


Fantasies in Fives

by sweetlullabies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Coming Out, Dudebros, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Weddings, but only for the first half, domestic abuse, five year time skip, not with larry tho, ok dont say i didn't warn u, uhh yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:45:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 169,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlullabies/pseuds/sweetlullabies
Summary: The boy pauses before he drops the envelope into the chute, turning to look at Louis, and Louis’ pretty sure this boy’s goal is to make everything weirder and more uncomfortable than it already is.“Good luck to you,” he says nicely, a single dimple appearing in his cheek.Louis drops his envelope down the chute without another thought before patting the boy on the shoulder.  “I’d tell you the same, but then I’d be lying,” he says easily, before moving towards the exit door and pushing it open.During critical points in their lives, it's easy for Louis and Harry to find comfort in one another—that is, until it becomes extremely hard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is a fic i wrote that i really adore. here are some things you definitely need to know before you decide to read: this fic skips five years after a few chapters, so you should fully expect that time skip to come at some point! they go from young adults to REAL adults (scary stuff, i know). there is a lot of angst in this, but i also tried to include a good amount of fluff. i made up both louis' and harry's families. this fic does not include their family members from real life. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it : )

 

 

At this point, Louis’ thoroughly convinced Bobby just moves around the books to piss him off. 

He’s staring at an aisle that he could’ve sworn he’d organized the day before—the Science Fiction section, just as remembered—and it seems the books are already out of order from their alphabetical standard.  Not enough customers even come into the bookstore for the aisle to have become this disorganized in under twenty-four hours, but Louis chooses not to acknowledge it.  He won’t make a _thing_ out of it, because it’s not much longer before his work day ends, and he’d really like to leave on a peaceful note. 

Organizing the books will give him something to do anyway.

So he works on moving around the books as that low volume, painfully torturous classical music continues throughout the store, and he’s not surprised when he turns his head only slightly and finds Bobby behind the register as usual, yawning into his fist as he lazily flips pages of a book with his free hand.

 _Just a little longer,_ Louis reminds himself.

This is the motivating thought that runs through his head every time he chokes on some unexpected dust that comes about from the bookshelves out of _nowhere_ , every time another classical song comes on shuffle that he’s heard a million times before, and every time Bobby yawns into his fist.

At some point even the tick of the clock hung up at the front starts to irritate him in ways he didn’t know were possible.

One thing that Louis has discovered is guaranteed to make his work day go by faster is actually _doing_ some work.  As much as most would like to chill behind the counter like good old Bobby and yawn their lives away, Louis knows doing that would only make every minute he spends here seem as though it’s never-ending.

Once Louis finds himself with nothing more to do, he approaches the front counter, just now noticing the fact that there’s a box resting on the counter next to the boy.

“What’s this?” Louis asks, gripping the cardboard and peering inside to find magazines.

“Oh yeah.  Ted said something about putting it in storage,” Bobby pretty much mumbles, and Louis blows a substantial amount of air out of his mouth before preparing to grip the box.

It’s not too heavy to carry—it’s actually quite a simple task, and Louis is pretty impressed by Bobby’s ability to be too lazy to do even the easiest of things.

Louis eats his words when he’s struggling to get the box on the top shelf in the storage room, and ends up losing his grip on the cardboard, causing it to tip and prompting all of the magazines to fall upon him in an avalanche of dust.

 _Just a little longer_ , Louis thinks again, pulling his lips into a tightly forced grin before getting down to pick everything up.

He spends a little more time lollygagging around once he finally gets that finished, and it’s not too much longer before it’s finally _time_.

Louis hadn’t announced that he was planning to leave early, because his manager, who’s pretty chill and flexible, isn’t here anyway, and he doesn’t owe an explanation to anyone else.  He has to get to the post office before it closes at six in order to mail something imperative (curse him for procrastinating), so he doesn’t hesitate to tell Bobby exactly that just as he’s slipping on his jacket and leaving out the door.

“Close up, will you?” Louis asks, and he’s fully prepared for the dumbfounded, distressed look on Bobby’s face as he finally sits up in his seat behind the counter.

“Are you serious?” Bobby asks incredulously.

“Very,” Louis replies, right before he leaves out and kicks his skateboard away from the wall near the entrance that it’d been resting against.

He leans against the wall briefly as he digs into the pocket of his jeans in search of his packet of cigarettes.  His fingers are fidgety until they find it, as they often are, and when he finally pulls his lighter out and takes his first drag, he instantly feels better.  It’s like he’s suddenly forgotten about how eventless and irritating the first half of his day has been. 

He exhales and leaves it between his index and middle finger as he gets his foot steady on his skateboard, rolling it around a bit as smoke begins to surround him.

With his free hand, he feels around his inside pocket for the envelope as he kicks off of the ground and goes rolling down the sidewalk at a gradually increasing pace.  He doesn’t even know why he’s rushing.  He just feels like the longer he waits, the lower his chances are.  Maybe the board doesn’t like people who procrastinate?

He takes another drag, blowing it out of the corner of his mouth as the wind works through his hair.

It’s a particularly prestigious internship that both he and his family believes will put the useless bachelor’s degree he’s about to get to some kind of use, and hopefully increase his chances of getting accepted into his preferred graduate schools.  It’s a lot of pressure, obviously, because Louis is reaching that point in his life where regular, young adult, party-til-the-sun-comes-up college is coming to an end, and real life is about to hit him full force.  There’s a lot on his back—nothing Louis can’t handle, however.

So that’s why he’s soaring down the streets and sidewalks on his beloved skateboard that never fails to get him where he needs to be in outstanding time.

He takes another casual drag out of his cigarette as he cuts through an intersection and kicks off of the street just a bit harder.

Maybe when he gets home, he’ll—

He doesn’t ever get to _think_ about what he’ll do when he gets home, because he crashes into a person who obviously has no sense of where they’re going.

Louis actually falls in response to this collision, and in a blur, he’s on the ground, in slight amounts of pain, and already dreading the grass stains that are deep in his work clothes.  Louis pushes himself up to a sitting position as he winces, just now focusing his sights enough to register who this person is that had hit him so powerfully.

His eyes wander over to the boy that’s laid just within a foot of him, and his short, slightly waved hair and huge eyes seem familiar, but not familiar enough for Louis to care.  Louis’ eyes process the tie-dyed backpack he has on, they trail down to his knees where he’s now got dirt stains…and they settle on his shoes—actually, they aren’t even shoes.  The boy is wearing _roller skates_.

“Sorry…” the boy says, struggling to get back to his feet as it becomes clear he’s in pain too.

Louis can’t control the overwhelming amounts of annoyance beginning to consume him.  “Dude, why the fuck are you wearing roller skates?” he asks, his tone hostile as the boy makes his third attempt at getting off of the ground.

“I…” he starts, looking a little confused as he finally gives up and settles on the grass, digging his palms into the ground.  “Helps me get around…just like you.  Skateboard, skates, same thing.”

Louis just blinks at him for a moment, trying with everything in him to figure out why people like this actually exist. 

“It uh…” the boy continues, clearly not picking up on how Louis is glaring at him right now.  He lifts one of his legs a little as he gestures at it, as though he’s in some kind of infomercial.  “It’s actually more beneficial than the skateboard, you know.  In terms of like, exercise.  You constantly have to use your ankles to pull the weight, it’s a lot of functional exercise—“

“Watch where you’re going.  Please,” Louis says just a bit forcefully, before getting up to his feet and dusting himself off.  The post office is just two more blocks down, so he doesn’t bother getting back on his skateboard once again, and he instead chooses to tuck it under his arm as he continues his journey.

It doesn’t take long after he’s been walking for a few seconds to realize he’s being followed.

Louis purses his lips as he continues, because _great_.  They’re obviously going in the same direction.

“Are you following me?” Louis asks, turning around to face this boy and trying to sound a touch less hostile (he’s not a _grump_ for goodness’ sake).

“No, I’m just headed to the post office, actually,” the boy replies, and he seems to have gotten back steady on his roller skates, because he slides past Louis on the sidewalk, and—that’s when Louis sees the envelope sticking out of his back pocket.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, and he doesn’t mean for the boy to hear it, but he does, and he turns around, now beginning to skate backwards (rather impressively).

One of the boy’s eyebrows quirk up in a curious fashion as he stares at Louis.  “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just…” Louis starts, before shaking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets.  “The internship thing.  We both procrastinated on mailing it in, didn’t we?”

The boy’s lips pull to one side as he nods, reaching behind him and pulling out the envelope.  “That’s crazy.  That’s like, some…coincidental type stuff.  Like, _super_ coincidental.”

Louis breathes harshly through his nose as his fingers claw at nothing from where they remain inside his pockets.  He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous.  There’s been no announced number of spots for this thing, and it's fair game for anyone.  He knows he shouldn’t care, but Louis has no control over what stresses him out.

He needs another smoke (although he would’ve liked to have finished his other one instead of dropping it after getting crashed into).

Once they get in, they both move toward the single mail chute for envelopes that’s placed near the entrance.

The boy pauses before he drops the envelope into the chute, turning to look at Louis, and Louis’ pretty sure this boy’s goal is to make everything weirder and more uncomfortable than it already is.

“Good luck to you,” he says nicely, a single dimple appearing in his cheek.

Louis drops his envelope down the chute without another thought before patting the boy on the shoulder.  “I’d tell you the same, but then I’d be lying,” he says easily, before moving towards the exit door and pushing it open.

And with that, he gets his skateboard back on the ground and pushes a foot off of the concrete, relieved due to having finally gotten that done.

When he eventually gets home, he places his skateboard back under his arm as he trudges up the steps of his apartment complex, the sun still in the process of going down.

It’s a bit of a feat to enter through the front door of his flat, because it seems something’s stuck under it, and all becomes perfectly clear when Louis pushes it open and finds that his flatmate’s book bag, as always, is placed in places it has no business being placed in.

After Louis closes the door, he drags the book bag over to the side— _out_ of the way of the door, where it makes sense.

“Liam, I told you to stop leaving your stuff in front of the door,” Louis says tiredly, glancing at where Liam and his army of _whoever_ it is he hangs out with are gathered in the living room.

Liam doesn’t even react to his words, nor does he spare a look in his direction as he continues focusing on…whatever central thing he and his weird, hipster friends are always focused on.

Louis figures the smart thing to do right now would be to consume something, since he’d forgotten his lunch for work and literally hasn’t eaten in twenty-four hours.  Just as he’s moving toward the fridge, his phone in his pocket vibrates, and he pulls it out in order to check the screen.  Immediately, his teeth bite onto his bottom lip as he registers the number, because he’d completely forgotten about the fact that he’d _definitely_ applied for this retail job a while back.

By the time he answers, he’s halfheartedly chewing on some bread rolls he’d retrieved from on top of the fridge.

As he talks on the phone with the nice lady who clearly is interested in him coming in for an interview, he also works on preparing himself some tea.  For once, Liam has actually attempted to be a decent human being (or maybe this was an accident, but Louis will take it), and there’s extra hot water in the kettle, so Louis continues his “mhmm”’s and “that would be great”’s into the phone as he prepares his beverage.  Louis mixes a healthy sprinkling of energy drink into his tea, which is something he only does occasionally, when desperate times call for desperate measures.  It’s not the best taste, but Louis knows he’s going to be up all night studying, finishing his history essay, and working on school applications, and this is the only way he’ll drink it.

“Is eight a.m. fine?” the lady on the phone asks at some point in regards to the impending interview.  “That’s the only time currently available.”

Louis winces just a bit as he finishes off stirring up his tea, but he knows he’s done worse.  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

When they finally hang up, Louis feels relieved to not have to use his professional voice anymore, and he carries his tea over to his bedroom in order to begin a long night of stress.

He doesn’t waste any time before dragging his chair up to his desk, sliding his reading glasses on, and absorbing as much as he can before he inevitably passes out (Five Hour Energy only works for five hours, who knew).

The fact that he eventually remembers he has a quiz deadline at midnight only adds to his stress, but as always, he gets through it, because he’s tough, he’s strong, and he’s great under pressure.

He makes it to at least four a.m. before he finally gives into his aching eyelids and checks out, and he wakes up to a headache, along with a bit of drool on the page of the textbook he’d laid his head down against.

Louis has no idea of what time it is as he raises his head, but it’s definitely not seven in the morning, because his alarm hasn’t gone off in order to alert him to get ready for the interview.  He rubs a fist against his head, feeling overwhelmed, tired, groggy, and all sorts of discombobulated. 

He yawns as he tugs a piece of paper from where it’s hidden under the many books on top of his desk, and he pulls it out.  The written words are still there at the top, just as they’d been when Louis’d first jotted them down.  He takes a moment to read it as he often does, just to remind himself of why he’s doing all of this.

_Five Year Plan:_

  1. _Go to a good graduate school_
  2. _Have a stable job_
  3. _Get married_
  4. _Start a family_



He’s got this.  He just has to work hard and sacrifice a lot of time but he’s really, really got this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’d tell you the same, but then I’d be lying,” the boy says right before he gives Harry two pats on the shoulder and just walks away.

Harry’s certain he’s wearing his offense clear on his face right now, but that boy can’t see it, because obviously, he’s gone.

That was rude.

Harry shakes his head as he continues to hold onto the envelope, the corner of it still hovering above the chute.

He didn’t know people were just blatantly rude like that these days, it’s intriguing.  It’s so hard to grasp such a reality when Harry lives in this bubble of positivity, and only believes in putting out into the universe what he wants to receive. 

But anyway.  Harry can only hope that boy eventually finds his peace.

Harry rolls away from the mailing chute just a bit, sticking his tongue out as he positions the envelope in his hands just enough so that he could potentially shoot from the short distance.

He attempts to get it in with a flick of his wrist, and it misses greatly, so Harry goes to pick it up, already becoming far too amused with this.

He backs up just a little more and positions the envelope in his hands once again, and he narrows his eyes a bit before he throws it again, this time attempting to get some curvature going.

It misses again, and he skates over to pick it up just as before. 

What he doesn’t expect is for someone to pick it up before he does.

He looks up slowly to find that it’s a middle aged woman in a navy blue uniform, and she doesn’t look too impressed.

“This is a post office, not a gymnasium,” she mutters, before sharply handing the envelope back to Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry replies slowly as he stands back up.

Is _everybody_ bummed out today?  What is the deal?

Harry slides the envelope down the chute before backing away and pushing out of the exit door in order to leave the place that had possessed quite a boring atmosphere anyway.

He continues his journey as he rolls down the sidewalk with restless feet, and as much as he hates to admit, it’s starting to get a little tiring, skating around like this.  What with the ankle lifting and all, _added_ with the fact that his backpack is a tad bit heavy.

For some reason, the increasing heft of his backpack is what causes Harry to remember that he definitely has a quiz due online at midnight.  He pulls his phone out of his back pocket in order to check the time, and it’s currently almost six, so he has six hours, which is plenty of time.

Not that he’s going to study, though.  The internet should come in handy.  It always has all the answers.

Harry’s pretty much just roaming around the streets as he curves in and out of sidewalks on his roller skates, and he’s conflicted between acknowledging the fact that he’s tired and should probably stop, and enjoying the breeze gliding across his face every time he speeds down a hill.

Harry comes to a slow stop near a building at the end of a particularly quiet road after he sees something that catches his eye.

 The sun is pretty much out of sight by now, so he has to roll just a little closer to read the sign that’d caused him to pause in his tracks.

There it is—it’s exactly what he’d _thought_ it said:

_HELP WANTED_

“That’s me,” Harry says matter-of-factly, before pressing a hand against the glass of the window. 

Harry tilts his head just a little in order to see past the sign into the building, and it looks like a relatively quiet little bookstore.  In fact, he doesn’t even see a single human inside it, despite the fact that all the lights are on. 

Harry’s no genius, but he’s pretty sure the bright lights inside indicate that it’s open, so he rolls over to the entrance and pulls the door open, letting himself in and gaining a slight sense of pleasure once a bell above the door makes a sweet sound.

It’s really quiet once he enters, save for the low hum of piano music playing throughout the place.  Harry rolls to a slow stop as he looks around, because he _really_ doesn’t see anyone here.  How can no one be here?  What if a customer comes in—or even more importantly, what if a person in need of a _job_ comes in?

When Harry finally brings his eyes over to the front counter where the register is located, he lets out a gentle breath at the sight of a person behind it.  He probably hadn’t realized them at first glance because of the way they sort of blend into the counter from how comfortably they’re laid against it, arms rested underneath their head.

Harry skates over, chewing on his bottom lip once he finally balances himself by gripping onto the counter.

The guy is sleeping.

The only sign of life in this bookstore, and he’s sleeping.  This place _definitely_ needs Harry to liven it up.

Harry reaches out a hesitant hand, bringing his finger out in order to poke at this man’s shoulder, and although he doesn’t budge for the first few attempts, he eventually stirs, lifting his head with much of a struggle.  He scratches at his hair as he does something halfway between yawning and coughing, which causes Harry to giggle.

“You look like one of those…” Harry starts, searching for the image in his head.  “Have you ever seen a baby cub?  That’s exactly how they wake up.  I’ve seen it on those animal documentaries.”

The guy pauses his movements in order to stare at Harry through lidded eyes.  “Did you wake me up to talk about bear cubs?”

Harry quickly shakes his head as he leans his weight against the counter.  “No, I want a job.  I saw a sign out in front of the building.”

The guy releases another one of his heavy yawns as he rests his head on his fist.

“Name three books,” he mumbles.

“Uhrm…” Harry starts, tapping at his chin for a moment as he thinks about the question.  “ _The Great Gatsby, A Thousand Splendid Suns,_ and uh _…To Kill A Mockingbird_.”

“Non-basic books.  Like, not ones you were forced to read in high school that you conveniently remembered for this exact moment,” the guy replies.

He’s not wrong, but Harry’s certain it shouldn’t make a difference.

“I don’t think that’s an actual rule,” Harry replies.

The guy finally directs his eyes straightforward to Harry, a sort of observant look behind his features as Harry grins warmly at him.  It’s a rather long moment, but Harry powers through it.

Then, he reaches under the counter for something as Harry waits.  He eventually pulls out a lump of stapled papers and slaps it on top of the counter, before waving Harry off as he seemingly prepares to go back to sleep.

“Guy that deals with this stuff isn’t here today,” he mumbles.  “Fill it out, bring it back another day.”

Harry hesitantly takes it and tries not to become intimidated by how thick it is.  For a moment, Harry fixes his mouth in order to ask when the “guy who deals with this stuff” will be here, but it’s clear that this person in front of him has already tuned out his existence.

His eyes shift over to the jar of M&M’s just a few inches shy of the boy’s elbow where his head rests in his arms, and Harry doesn’t hesitate to reach in and grab a handful before skating away.

For some reason, as he starts back on his journey through the streets that are now dark, he feels accomplished.  He doesn’t have a job _yet_ , but there’s now a chance that he will have one in the future, and he thinks he should celebrate that.

He decides to celebrate potentially having a job by fetching some pizza on the way back home—three boxes so that his friends can celebrate with him.  He doesn’t even think about how the ache of the roller skates, along with his backpack, _and_ the three boxes of hot pizza in his arms are going to have him soaking in the tub for days, and instead imagines the smiles on Niall and Zayn’s faces once he gets home.  He doesn’t even fall on the way there, so that’s yet _another_ thing to celebrate about.

Once he opens the front door after about five minutes of struggling while carrying way too many things, he makes it through the threshold, and the first greeting he receives is Niall opening the box at the very top and pulling two slices out.

“Thank _God,_ ” the boy practically moans through a full mouth as he goes over to recline on the sofa in the living room.  “I was so hungry I was on the verge of _making_ food.  Using _kitchen appliances_.”

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” Harry says, looking at the boy pointedly as he sets the boxes down on the kitchen table and prepares to take his skates off.  He rolls each ankle around in relief once he finally succeeds in removing them.

“Did you mail your nerd letter?” Niall asks, glancing at Harry from the couch as he stuffs his face with more pizza.  “Didn’t know it would take so long.”

Harry approaches the living room before slumping down into the bean bag chair they keep next to the sofa (which they’d all chipped in to purchase), and after a long day of classes, this is the first time he’s actually getting to settle and _rest_.

“It’s not a _nerd letter_ ,” Harry replies, continuing to stroke the fabric of his socks at his feet.  “I’m just…looking out for my future, like any normal person.”

Niall scoffs as his shoulders shake with amusement.  “Definitely not me.  _Nothing_ ’s important enough for me to do unpaid work at some internship.”

“Well that’s _you,_ okay?” Harry replies, rolling his eyes at the boy.  “Not everyone’s a lazy ass.  Where’s Z?”

“Room,” Niall replies, pointing in the general direction as he continues to eat at a speed that’s probably unhealthy.

Harry hops up from where he’s sat in order to retrieve a box of pizza from the kitchen table, before he moves in the direction of the boy’s room.

Harry pushes the door open slowly once he gets to the end of the short hall, and he isn’t shocked to find the boy sitting with crossed legs on top of his blue Papasan chair, throwing a ball into the air repeatedly and watching it come down to meet his awaiting hands time after time.  The boy is often bored.

The terrarium in which his pet lizard lives is also not too far behind him as it rests by his television, and even though it’s been quite a few months since Zayn had randomly brought it home and declared its name was Canopy, Harry still gets just a _faint_ shiver when the lizard looks him in the eye.

“Hey friend,” Harry greets with a grin as he approaches him, and he gets down on his knees next to the boy’s chair in order to become leveled with him.  Zayn continues to throw the ball, although a tiny grin begins to show on his lips.

“I brought pizza,” Harry says, moving the box out in front of him.  “But if your hands are too preoccupied I could always feed it to you.  Or _chew_ it for you.”

Zayn chuckles lightly, which causes him to lose his concentration as he falters on catching the ball, the bouncy sphere falling right into his lap.

Zayn picks it up, examining it with thorough eyes as he rolls the relatively small thing around on his fingers.  “I’m reducing oil in my diet.”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together as he studies Zayn’s face, and Zayn senses his confusion as he finally looks at him.

“It’s terrible for your body, man.  If I could I’d cut it out completely,” Zayn says, reclining in the comfort of his chair.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Harry replies.  “Oil is essential.  Isn’t it on the food pyramid or something?  I could’ve sworn it was on the food pyramid.”

Zayn gently shushes him as he moves to get up from his seat, taking the box from Harry.

“I’ll blot it with napkin if that makes you happy,” the boy says, taking leisure steps to leave his room as Harry follows behind.

“Blotting it with napkin doesn’t even—“

“ _Please_ , don’t indulge in him,” Niall says from where continues to be seated in front of the living room television.  “He thinks he’s a genius no matter how dumb his weird practices are.”

“It’s not weird.  Tons of people do it,” Zayn replies defensively, Niall now having gotten up from the couch in order to approach him.

“Yeah right,” Niall teases as he gets up behind him, poking him in his neck so that Zayn shies away, before leaning over the boy’s shoulder and grabbing another slice of pizza from the box.  This makes Harry grin as he watches them from where he’s stood on the other side of the counter, opposite Zayn.  Their dynamic is always so much fun to admire.

“Are you fulfilled now?” Zayn asks as he pats napkins against numerous slices of pizza.  “Since you’ve turned in your application and stuff?”

Harry blinks at himself for a moment, trying to figure out what he feels.  “Yeah, I guess.  I feel like something’s checked off.”

Zayn rolls his eyes as he slides into the nearest stool near the counter, finally tearing a slice away and bringing it to his mouth.

“I keep telling you guys,” Zayn starts, before taking a moment to chew.  “You shouldn’t go chasing things like acceptance from made-up corporations, places of flawed education, artificial institutions, and instead let happiness come to you but—“ Zayn brings his hands up by his face.  “You guys will find out eventually.  Both of you.”

“Why _me_?” Niall asks, his face showing offense as he leans against the counter.

As much as Harry would love to witness another one of their episodes of bickering, as well as Zayn’s farfetched philosophies of life that he believes are the end all be all, his phone rings in his pocket, and because of the super annoying and repetitive jingly tone that plays, Harry knows it’s his mother.

He backs out of the kitchen in order to answer it, already mentally preparing himself for whatever this conversation will be.

Of course…it’s not anything new.

“Yes, I sent in the application,” Harry replies at some point, waltzing into his own bedroom with heavy steps.  He walks around a bit as he nods along to her every stern word. 

“I don’t want to see you at home during the summer instead of utilizing this opportunity,” his mother says eventually, causing both of Harry’s eyebrows to rise as he sets an elbow on top of his dresser.

“I know.  You’ve told me that like, a gazillion times,” Harry replies.  “I need this for my future, and graduate school, and all that.”

“Harry, I refuse to have you living at home because you can’t find a graduate school that’ll accept you.”

“I get it,” Harry replies, picking up an old paper airplane from off of his dresser and throwing it in order to watch it loop around in the air before gently swaying towards the ground.  “Thanks for making me feel so welcome.”

As always, the sarcasm, the sass, the hostility, goes right over her head as she continues her stern speech about how he’d better be doing well in school.

Once Harry finally hangs up, he tosses his phone onto his bed, scratching at the back of his head and already starting to feel the harsh beginnings of a headache.

He knows he could’ve just lied about sending in the application.  She’d never know, and she’d probably believe that he sent it in, and it just wasn’t good enough to be accepted.  The problem with that is, Harry’s a horrible liar.

So he settled on sending in the worst application known to man.

Hopefully it works.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

There’s a protruding silence encompassing the small room Louis and this lady (who he’s come to learn likes to be called Ms. Johnson).  For a few seconds, nothing but the sounds of shuffling papers as she looks through Louis’ documents can be heard between them.

Louis feels the interview has been quite successful up to this point, because he’d arrived on time and done all the essentials (taken notes on everything she was saying, dressed professionally, and asked questions in order to communicate that he’s engaged).

It’s just that now, she seems to be a bit skeptical as she looks through his documents, her lips beginning to purse just a hint.

“It says here you already have a job?” she asks, a corner of one of the papers lifted in the air as she glances up at Louis.  She seems as though she hadn’t quite noticed it before, as though she’d accidently missed it while looking through his records.

Louis sits up a little as he tugs on the sleeves of his jacket.  “Yeah, I do.  But I’m planning on moving around my hours at the bookstore so I can work in both places,” he replies, adding as much enthusiasm to his tone as he can muster.

She stares at him for a moment, the violet of her lipstick pressed into a line as her eyebrows begin to furrow with doubt.

“I was thinking I could be _here_ during the day, and I could be _there_ at night,” Louis continues, trying his best to fix whatever’s gone wrong.  The unchanging look on her face encourages him to keep trying.  “Or—or vice versa.  Whichever’s fine,” Louis adds, grinning mechanically.

“Is that not a lot on you?” she asks.  “Doesn’t allow you too much sleep.”

“I’m an avid power-napper,” Louis replies easily, shrugging his shoulders.

She still seems all but convinced, but Louis tries his best to keep faith, even as she uses her red pen to jot something down that Louis can’t see because of his distance from her desk.

She then stacks the papers together as she looks at Louis again, allowing a grin to spread across her lips.  “Okay, then.  We’ll call you if you’ve gotten the job, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis takes that as the cue that he should probably leave, and he does so after shaking her hand once more, although it doesn’t have the same firm, confident enthusiasm it’d had when he’d shaken her hand earlier.

Everyone knows that’s business talk for “you haven’t gotten the job” because if he _had_ gotten the job, he’d actually be feeling quite confident of that right now.  Instead, all he feels is a slight sense of distress as he exits the building and strides toward the parking lot with heavy shoulders.

Louis can definitely handle two jobs, just like every other person on the planet has been handling several jobs all throughout history.  Some would argue he doesn’t need it, such as his mother, who’s way too warmhearted and sympathetic for her own good, but Louis knows she’s struggling, what with paying both he and his sister through school, _and_ getting a pay cut at her job, and he just really wants to help.  He’s pretty sure it’s every child’s desire to give back to their parents in some way, and that’s all he wants to do.

Once Louis finally gets into his car and slides into the driver's seat, he suffers through a three-second heart attack when the digital clock comes on and he finds that it’s 9:48.  He didn’t even know he’d been in the interview for that long.

And he has a class at _ten_.

Luckily, campus isn’t too far, but it doesn’t make him any less panicked as he puts his vehicle in drive and literally stomps on the gas.  It’s not just any regular, nothing class—it’s World History, which is surprisingly one of his _harder_ ones, with the strictest professor there is who makes things way more difficult than they should be.  Once the clock displays ten, the door is _always_ locked promptly, and the students have to suffer through the fruitless knocks of kids who come just a few seconds late and never get let in.  It’s one of those classes where, if Louis misses one day of information, he might as well drop it.

He has to circle the student parking lot _twice_ before finding a spot, and once he does, he gets his skateboard out of the backseat, swings his bag over his shoulder, and is gliding over the concrete within seconds.  A car honks at him as he crosses the street from the parking lot towards campus, but Louis doesn’t have time to acknowledge the fact that he’d almost gotten run over as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. 9:57.  _Fuck._

Louis can swear his palms begin to sweat as he accelerates at maximum speed, even becoming just a bit cold at the harsh brush of the wind as he rolls over the ground.  Eventually he makes it to the building at 9:59 and tucks his skateboard under his arm as he pushes the entrance door open, rushes through the halls, and books it towards the auditorium at the very end.

He expects it just a bit, the fact that the door to enter the lecture auditorium closes when he’s just a few feet away, but he still tries his hand at rushing up to the door and knocking on it repeatedly.  His attempts come up fruitless as it becomes clear the door is locked and Louis has absolutely failed at getting to this class on time. 

Actually, he’s already failed the entire day as a whole, and it’s only ten a.m.

He settles on the ground right outside of the door in frustration, rubbing vigorously at his eyes before smoothing his hands back over his hair in a stressful manner, and _God,_ how could he be such an idiot?

“Fucking idiot,” Louis mutters as he looks down at his knees, his skateboard slowly rolling to a stop as it remains right next to him.

Just as Louis’ biting down on his fist and contemplating how he’s going to fix this, despite not knowing _anyone_ in this class enough to ask for notes, the door opens… _very_ slowly.

It only opens about a foot wide, and then someone’s head peeks out of it.  It’s a blond-haired fellow that Louis’ definitely seen in this class numerous times, and he glances over his shoulder before gesturing at Louis.

“C’mon,” he whispers.

Louis stares up at him bewilderedly, still recovering from his near-meltdown.

“Jesus, hurry _up_ before he looks up at the class again,” the guy says, which causes Louis to snap out of it and rise to his feet as he grips at his skateboard.

The guy actually… _sneaks_ Louis in, and Louis’ sure he’s never in his life moved as quietly as he is right now in order to slide into a seat in the back row without making a single sound.

Professor Anderson is behind his computer, seemingly trying to fix a faulty PowerPoint and completely oblivious to the fact that a student has snuck into his room after ten.

Louis won’t ever get his attendance credit for being here today, but at least he’s here, so that’s good.

“Thanks,” Louis whispers, settling into his seat as he pulls his laptop out of his bag.

“I actually went out there because I thought there was a lost puppy whimpering outside the room,” he replies, not even looking at Louis as he focuses on his laptop and chews on his thumbnail.  “Seriously, dude.  You need to chill.  It’s just a class.”

Louis raises both of his eyebrows momentarily, not knowing quite how to respond to the fact that this guy is so blunt and nonchalant.  His eyes then wander over to what it is that he’s viewing on his laptop, and—he’s watching _cartoons_.  Professor Anderson has started back up on his lecture, and the boy is sitting there watching cartoons in a class that he literally paid for.

“I just think the punctuality rule is a bit much, isn’t it?” Louis asks, directing his attention back forward to the professor and typing notes as though his fingers are on autopilot.  “It’s just ridiculous.  I mean, we’re supposed to miss almost two hours of information just because we arrive a few seconds late.”

The boy's shoulders shake a bit as he tries not to react too distractingly to something on his laptop screen amuses him.  “I have a solution,” he replies halfheartedly.  “Come on time.”

“Well, some of us actually have lives that don’t involve watching cartoons like prepubescent teens, don’t we?” Louis replies casually, continuing to type as he ignores the boy finally turning his head in order to face him.

“It’s anime,” he corrects him.

Louis shrugs one shoulder.  “Doesn’t make it any less sad.”

The boy’s quiet for a while as it seems like he’s contemplating either going off on Louis for insulting his precious anime, or doing something else that Louis’ not quite sure of.  Either way, Louis doesn’t worry about it as he continues to maintain focus and tap his fingers across his keyboard.

“Hey.  You’re straightforward and not too sensitive.  Like me,” the boy eventually says, sounding satisfied.  He then reaches out a hand toward Louis, which Louis clasps after a while of contemplating if the boy’s hand is worth his time.

“Niall,” the boy says in greeting.

“Louis,” Louis replies, and after that, everything becomes pretty easy. 

Louis still does his best to keep absolute focus on the lecture being given to him, but he and Niall also fall into a comfortable multitude of whispered jokes, and he often finds himself struggling not to laugh in the back of the class.  He really doesn’t understand why he’s seen this boy every day he’s had this class, yet hasn’t spoken to him until now.  The boy is practically his lecture hall soulmate.

Once everyone’s dismissed, Niall addresses Louis as he gets to his feet.

“Wanna smoke?” the boy asks, sliding his backpack over his shoulder.  “I usually do that after this class.”

Again.  Literally his soulmate.

They end up smoking by the fence right outside of the soccer field, which _isn’t_ a designated smoking area (Louis had told the boy), but is apparently where Niall does it all the time.

Few students are utilizing the field as a means of exercise, but for the most part the area’s not too busy, and Louis’ able to fully immerse himself in the calamity that comes with nicotine without feeling self conscious.

“God, this school gives me wrinkles, I swear,” Niall mutters around his cigarette at some point.  “I shouldn’t have to feel like an old, balding man _this_ early in my life.”

“You’re telling me,” Louis replies, his back rested against the fence as he blows smoke out of his mouth while looking up at the sprinkle of clouds in the sky.

There’s a slight pause as Niall stops his movements, his cigarette dangling in the air by his mouth as he looks at Louis contemplatively.

“Uh—you’re not trying to quit, are you?” Niall asks cautiously, laughing just a bit.  “I just realized I never even asked, and I could’ve just taken you three steps back without knowing.”

Louis laughs wholeheartedly as he shakes his head, keeping his cigarette between two fingers as he smiles.  “ _Nope_ ,” he replies with one last shake of the head.  “Found out that was a useless attempt long ago.  I’m a lost cause in that aspect.”  He brings the smoke back up to his lips and takes a drag.

Niall nods in response as he leans an elbow against the fence.  “I’m the same, and that’s exactly what I try to tell my flatmate, but he still insists on trying to get me stop.”

Louis groans as he closes his eyes briefly.  “God, I _hate_ a wannabe superhero.”

“ _Right_ ,” Niall agrees, shaking Louis’ shoulder with enthusiasm.  “Always trying to fix everything."

“People think that everyone lives in this same utopian reality as them, it’s really sad,” Louis replies, before taking a particularly long drag.  “Things just aren't…that _easy_ for everyone.”

“Exactly,” Niall replies, shoving a hand in the pocket of his joggers.  “If I die prematurely from cigarettes, let me die.  It’ll be okay.”

Louis nods in response for a half second, before he pauses, shifting his eyes to look at Niall as the boy takes another casual drag.

“That’s kinda dark, isn’t it?” Louis asks, drawing his eyebrows together.

Niall shakes his head as he bites inside his cheek, staring right back at Louis.  “Not if you’re living your life to the fullest.”

Louis rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms in front of him, his cigarette continuing to cause smoke to surround him like a cloud.  “And how are _you_ doing that, exactly?” he asks, a sarcastic edge to his tone.

“I try to accomplish as many of my goals as I can,” Niall replies easily.  “Actually, I—“ he starts, before biting down on his lip and reaching into his back pocket as Louis watches with lazily blinking eyes.

He pulls out a severely crumpled sheet of paper and holds it out in front of him as his eyes scan it.  “What’s the punishment for streaking on campus?”

Louis purses his lips as he slowly shakes his head, not knowing if the boy wants a legitimate answer to the question.  He also doesn’t know what the fuck he’s hinting at, and why he suddenly seems a lot less…normal than Louis had initially taken him for.

“Pretty sure it’s extremely serious—maybe even expulsion,” Louis replies.

“Hmm,” Niall replies, shifting on his feet as he continues to look at the paper.  “Underwear on?”

“Uh, probably less serious, but I think you could still get in lots of—“

“Say no more,” the boy replies, and before Louis can fully take everything in, the boy is sliding his sweatshirt off, putting in effort in order to get it off of his head, and shoving it in Louis’ arms.  Louis blinks profusely as he watches him then work to pull off his shoes and joggers, stepping out of them one foot after the other.

“What are you _doing_?” Louis asks.

“Bucket list, mate,” Niall replies, before adding his joggers to the pile in Louis’ arms.  “You should definitely think about making one, it’s awesome,” he says with two harsh pats to Louis’ back before he’s off, letting himself through the opening in the fence and beginning his activity of running laps around the field.  In only his briefs.

A few people stop to turn and look at him, some even point, but the boy just laughs as he continues on the track, and suddenly Louis doesn’t know if this person is his soulmate anymore. 

Yep, he’d definitely befriended him too soon.

After a few more moments of simply staring as the boy runs yet another lap, Louis sets the boy’s stuff down on the ground, picks up his skateboard, and silently walks away.

His meeting for the student activities council doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, but he figures it won’t hurt to get there a little early in order to escape this weird encounter.

As vice president of the student activities council, he’s made it his duty to come to every single meeting there is, and once he comes early and no one’s arrived yet, he spends his extra time reading over the minutes from the last meeting that were provided to him.

As always, when the meeting actually starts, it’s stressful because of the outrageous amounts of ideas and suggestions being thrown at him by all thirty members, and the stress is even more so because the actual _president_ isn’t there.

Louis sometimes wishes he could know who’s going to suggest a bad idea before they do it, so that he can reject it prematurely, but unfortunately he can’t, and so much of their time is wasted because of it.

They’re supposed to be coming up with a fundraiser, and for weeks now, they haven’t come close to establishing any solid means of raising money.  The ultimate goal is to raise awareness for leukemia and help to donate money to the organization of their choice, yet they’re still hung up on exasperating things, like _how_ they’re going to do it so that students will actually participate.  It shouldn’t be this hard, really, but no one ever seems to agree on anything.

The suggestion of organizing a marathon comes up, and people actually begin to agree with it, although Louis isn’t too fond of it.  He’s definitely no runner and he doesn’t want to embarrass himself, so if worse comes to worst he’ll find a way of swaying things a bit so that he gets his way.  He’s really skilled at things like that.

After his meeting, he has to rush back to his car and drive away from campus in order to go to work once again, and it’s not until he’s officially clocked in that he realizes how exceedingly hungry he is.

And he’s also forgotten his lunch.  _Again._

He suffers through it anyway, because it’s his fault that he didn’t use his brain in order to remember to eat breakfast that morning, and the only person he can blame is himself for being incompetent.

He finally arrives back at his front door after a long day around ten at night, and the amount of exhaustion beginning to creep up on him causes him to fumble with the key a bit before finally getting it into the keyhole in order to properly open the door.

The first sensation that fills Louis once he enters is satisfaction, because the smell of something _pleasant_ (smells like a sort of alfredo?  With a healthy amount of oregano, he assumes) is resting in the air and his stomach is already beginning to settle down in response to it.

Whatever _satisfaction_ Louis had felt when he’d initially entered immediately goes away when he walks over to the stove and finds that the pan, which contains remains of whatever it is Liam had cooked, is completely _empty_.

“Seriously?” Louis asks, directing his attention to Liam, who is, as always, in the living room doing something Louis hasn’t the slightest clue of.  “You couldn’t make me any?”

Liam’s wrist is moving quickly in order to write stuff down on a sheet of paper as he watches the television closely (some soap opera is on), and Louis’ fairly certain the boy is just not going to respond to him, as per usual.

“We each pay our own rent,” Liam replies, his voice low and almost unheard.  “So we make our own food.”

Louis stares at him for a while from where he is in the kitchen, but the boy doesn’t turn his attention away from the television.  He then sighs as he turns back, knowing that one way or another, he’s going to get food into his mouth.

“I completely agree with that,” Louis replies, walking over to the kitchen table in order to pull one of the chairs away from it.  He hovers it over the ground just a bit as he walks over to the fridge, setting the chair right in front of it.

“I mean, we’re _just_ flatmates,” Louis replies, getting on top of the chair with a grunt and pulling open the cabinet above the fridge, where Liam keeps his cereal.  “We just live together and share this one space for most of our daily lives.  Why would you _ever_ attempt to be cordial with me, or treat me like an actual person?” Louis continues, before getting the box of flakes and granola up under his arm and hopping down from the chair.  He gets a fistful out of it as he walks up to the counter, filling his mouth and beginning to chew. 

He sets the box down on the counter before going over to the dish rack in order to pull out a pristine ceramic bowl, and Liam continues to ignore his presence as he concentrates on whatever it is he’s doing.

Louis pours himself the biggest bowl of cereal known to man, not letting up on shaking the granola into the bowl until a few flakes start to fall off the edge, and he glares at the side of Liam’s head through all of it.

Louis had found this douche after failing at many attempts to get a roommate at the last minute and finding himself desperate.  He’d posted an ad on Craigslist (which actually had the potential to be very dangerous, he now realizes), which Liam, being desperate as well, had quickly responded to.  Louis can only blame himself, anyway.  He should’ve known Craigslist was the modern hipster’s natural habitat

Louis probably wouldn’t be _as_ bothered if Liam was just rude, and that were the end of it, but he’s also weird.  Pretty much once every week, Liam does this thing where he just…cleans things.  And not just like any regular person, wiping down surfaces and sweeping the floor casually and whatnot.  He cleans _very_ precisely.  He’ll spend at least five hours on the living room alone.  Louis guesses that’s an upside, because the apartment is hardly ever dirty, but.  It’s just weird.

Louis knows so little about him, and even though he can admit, he doesn’t really _want_ to know more, his curiosity gets the best of him sometimes.  He’s never even been in the boy’s _room_ —the boy could be harvesting organs in there for all Louis knows.

Once Louis’ finally poured his milk, has been eating for quite a while, has a pleased stomach, and feels as though he’s not on the verge of collapsing anymore, he becomes less irritable and makes the attempt of engaging Liam some more.  Only because he knows it pisses him off.

“I know you don’t care, but I’m gonna tell you about my day,” Louis says through a full mouth. 

He then proceeds to recall the many details of his stressful day, mostly as a means of self-reflection and subconsciously coming up with ways to be better tomorrow, and Liam doesn’t react to a single word of it.

What _does_ seem to poke the boy’s interest, however, is when Louis begins talking about Niall’s streaking episode.

He pauses his long monologue for a moment once it seems he’s gotten Liam’s attention, and the boy finally turns his head towards him.

“Are…” Liam starts, Louis quirking an eyebrow up as he grows thoroughly interested in what he’s going to say.

Liam’s eyes continue to stare into his.  “Are you eating my cereal?”

Louis pauses mid chew, completely forgetting about the fact that he’s definitely eating Liam’s _labeled_ cereal and he hadn’t even attempted to hide it.

Louis looks down at his bowl that still has a lot left in it, and he knows there’s no way out of this one. 

But then he also realizes, it’s not like Liam’s going to kick his ass anyway.

Louis is fully prepared when Liam pushes himself off of the couch and makes his way over to him.  He already knows what’s coming, and it causes him to groan.

“Louis,” Liam begins, clasping his hands together and plastering a pseudo-cordial grin on his face.  He usually only bears this look when Louis’ irritating him and he’s trying his best to make nice and keep his temper under control.

“Are we gonna have to go over the established rules again?” Liam asks, walking over to stand in front of the fridge and gesturing at the sheet of paper that’s stuck to it with a magnet.  Louis has only looked at that thing once, if he’s being honest.

“No, Liam,” Louis replies with a sigh as he continues to dig his spoon into his bowl.  “I just thought you wouldn’t care this _one_ time.”

“Clearly, you don’t understand this thing called ‘boundaries’,” Liam says, taking two steps over to one of the drawers in order to pull it out.

Louis smacks his teeth in annoyance as he looks at Liam incredulously.  “ _Boundaries_?  I’m just eating _cereal—_ it’s not like I’m sticking my finger in your ear.”

Liam pulls exactly what he’d been looking for out of the drawer, and Louis’ quite familiar with the sight of the boy now holding his trusty ruler, which only indicates that he’s about to go over the rules once again.

“Rule number _one_ ,” Liam starts, slapping the ruler against the fridge. 

Louis decides he won’t stick around for this, and he successfully tunes Liam out as he backs out of the kitchen in order to finish the (great tasting) cereal in the comfort of his room, despite Liam’s numerous fruitless attempts at getting him to listen.

He locks his door once he enters his bedroom, before setting the bowl down on his desk with an exhausted breath.

He then goes over to his bed and flops down on top of it face first, wondering how much longer it’ll be before he completely snaps.

He just reminds himself that he has only a few more months of this.  Just a _few_ more months, and then he graduates, and he can move out, and he doesn’t ever have to see this boy, deal with ridiculous professors, or touch another dust-filled book ever again. 

He’ll go to a nice graduate school, preferably somewhere pleasant, substantially _far_ and further up north, that’s high ranking and will give him a valuable education.  He can just imagine it,  living in his own apartment and not having to adhere or even _listen_ to any absurd rules, waking up to nothing but his own company.  It soothes him a bit as he continues to bury his face in the duvet.

Louis reaches into the pocket of his jacket in order to pull out his wallet, and he turns his face a bit in order to look at the picture inside of it once he opens it.  It’s one of his favorite pictures.  It’s an old one of his mother and Elizabeth, his sister, comfortably wrapped around each other, hugging with bright smiles on their faces and spring dresses that they've both grown out of by now.  He thinks his father had taken it either four or five years ago around Easter or some other formal holiday, he can’t remember, but he still admires it all the same.

He’ll do it for them.  Everything, for them.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

As soon as Harry’s ears become alert to the sound of "Axel F" by Crazy Frog playing on his phone at high volume (it’s the song he’d set for his alarm), he reaches out and blindly moves his finger over the screen in order to press snooze, but it doesn’t work.

Harry burrows himself deeper underneath his shed of blankets as the techno music continues to play, but he keeps an arm out in order to make another attempt at snoozing.

He sighs with his eyes squeezed shut and his eyebrows drawing together in frustration, because he knows why it’s not working, yet he keeps trying.  He’d set it up so that it doesn’t let him snooze more than four times in one morning, which clearly, he’s already done.

Harry raises his head from the depths of his pillows, some of his hair sticking to his head with sweat and his entire body successfully woken up, courtesy of the now immensely annoying alarm song he’d thought was a good idea at some point.

Harry’s eyes are heavy slits as he reaches out and shuts the alarm off, feeling instantly satisfied when he’s finally met with silence.

He runs his hand through his hair as he yawns, knowing he’s unable to go back to sleep at this point.  The digital clock resting on top of his dresser reads 10:45, and he blinks at it for a few moments.

Why is he waking up early again?

He spends a seriously alarming amount of time contemplating this answer as he goes into his bathroom in order to release his bodily fluids, wash his hands thoroughly in the sink, and brush his teeth vigorously while checking his chin for stubble.

It comes to him once he’s wiped off his mouth with the bottom of his shirt, and he remembers. 

It takes him a while to fully come to his senses after he’s woken up.

He has this thing called _work_ that he has to go to.  Because he’d gotten the job after a surprisingly brief and easy interview with the guy who was in charge of that kind of stuff, he recalls.

Harry nods at his reflection as it all comes to him, even laughing just a bit at how crazy it is that he actually has a _job_. 

The work attire that Ted had explained wasn’t _too_ strict, and only consisted of making sure he wore a shirt with a collar and pinned his nametag to it every day.  He can even wear _jeans._

So Harry does exactly that after he showers, picking out a long-sleeved white tee to go under the faded burgundy collared shirt he’d dug out of his closet, and he’s pretty pleased with himself and how mildly professional he looks once he’s finished.

It’s a Friday, and he’s come to learn that Niall doesn’t have any classes on this day, so he’s not surprised when he steps out into the living room to find him on the couch curled up with Zayn (that’s another thing that’s not surprising—they occasionally sleep together).  Niall has one arm loosely draped over Zayn’s chest as the boy peacefully sleeps the day away, and Niall seems as though he’s just a few more bodily shifts from blinking his eyes awake.

Zayn, of course, doesn’t have anywhere to be on this lovely morning, because he’s not in school.  He’d quit—or “realized that’s not the lifestyle" for him, as he’d put it—long ago, and he also doesn’t have a job.  He literally coasts through life on some magic surfboard, and somehow conjures up more than enough money to pay rent, which he never comments on when they boys question him.  “Ask the universe, and you shall receive”, is what he usually says, which Harry’s certain is just his way of saying “my parents send me money whenever I ask”.

The boy’s a college dropout, yet more times than not, it seems like he has his life more together than both Harry _and_ Niall combined.  Harry envies him often, because it’s clear his parents are chill and supportive, and he never has anything to be stressed about.  Harry’s pretty sure he’s never even seen a pimple on his face before.

Zayn and Niall were friends long before Harry ever came into the picture, which explains why they share sort of a special bond that Harry also envies sometimes, and are easily comfortable around each other, almost as though they blend into one another, despite how different they are.

Harry silently moves over to the fridge in order not to disturb them as they continue to rest, and the light from inside of it causes him to squint for a moment.  He reaches for the giant jug of lemonade before pulling it out, twisting the cap off of it, and bringing it up to his mouth in order to enjoy several gulps.

“I saw that,” he hears Niall mutter from where he remains in the living room.

Harry wipes his mouth as he grows amused.  “As if _you_ don’t do it,” Harry replies as he twists the cap back onto the jug.

He watches as Niall slowly detaches himself from Zayn in order to get up from the couch, and once he finally succeeds in doing so, he stretches his arms out wide as his mouth opens substantially for a yawn.

“ _Oh_.  Collared shirt,” Niall comments as he approaches him in the kitchen, flicking on the single light.  “Professional.”  He rests his chin on his hand as he leans his elbow on the counter, surveying Harry’s outfit inquisitively.

“Thank you,” Harry replies as he turns to place the jug back into the fridge.  “I’m a working man now,” he says as he opens one of the cabinets in order to pull out a bag of Poptarts from the box.

“So you’re really going to work,” Niall says as he drums his fingers against the table.  “Wow.  Will I ever see you again?”

Harry’s got half a strawberry Poptart in his mouth as he replies to the boy.  “Jesus, you act like I’ve never had a job before,” he says, crumbs falling out of his mouth as he laughs.

“Yeah, but those other times were just for fun,” Niall replies.

“Well, someday we all have to grow up, don’t we?” Harry replies, taking another large bite out of his Poptart before reaching for his nametag on the counter and throwing a peace sign up at the boy as he heads in the direction of the front door.

“Wait—“ Niall says, and before Harry knows it, the boy is intercepting him, coming to stand in front of him as he puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re gonna be back by six, right?” the boy asks, his eyes hopeful.  “Omega Sigma’s having a kickback later on today and we’re planning on going.”

Harry actually has to take a moment to decide if that’s something he wants, because he’s usually always up for having fun, but he’s not sure if he’ll be in the mood for doing such things right after a day of work.

“You know it’s no use if there’s only the two of us.  It’s gotta be all three,” Niall adds, cupping his neck.  “Also, I heard that chick Julianna has the hots for you and she’s gonna be there, and…”  his words come to a slow fumble as he watches Harry’s facial expression go from contemplative to uninterested.

“…and you don’t like girls,” Niall says, changing the end of his sentence as he hesitantly joins his hands in front of himself.  “Right.  I knew that.  I’m still getting used to it.”

Harry forces out a sort of half grin as he scratches at the back of his neck and shakes his head.  “It’s fine.”

“Sorry bro,” Niall says with one more sympathetic pat to Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s all good,” Harry replies easily, making his way past Niall as he continues his journey toward the front door.  He turns around in order to push it open as he backs out of the flat, signaling at Niall.  “I’ll try to be back by then, alright?”

Niall throws him a thumbs up just as Harry’s closing the door behind himself, and Harry feels himself finally exhale fully and properly once he’s outside.

He loves Niall and appreciates him as a best friend, and he really hopes the boy doesn’t think he’s upset.

The thing is, Harry’d come out a month ago.  Obviously, that’s fairly recent, so Harry doesn’t blame the boy for sometimes forgetting the fact that he’s gay, since he’d gotten so used to that altered version of himself Harry had sold to everyone for _years_.

It was probably the most…weird, and…not-so-cool thing that has happened in his life, because it didn’t even go down the way it was supposed to.  In fact, he’s pretty sure he never would’ve come out if it hadn’t happened.

Harry doesn’t drink much, but once, just _once_ , he’d decided to let loose just a bit more at some kegger, and long story short, he ended up making out pretty heavily with some guy and shocking everyone who knew him—or _thought_ they knew him.  He’d hardly mentioned anything about it afterwards, and instead opted to just begin shooting down everybody when they attempted to put him onto certain girls, subtly letting them know, _yes, I’m gay, I made out with that guy because I’m gay, and I don’t like girls because I’m gay._    It’s mostly worked, which is awesome, because now Harry doesn’t have to address it directly and make a big scene out of everything.

That’s mostly the reason why he usually stays clear of consuming alcohol.  At this point, if he ever decides to give up on his aversion to drinking, it’s probably going to be because there’s something seriously wrong with him.

Everyone knows, and that’s great.  It’s definitely a step up from before, when he could literally be himself everywhere _outside_ of conversations about relationships, partners in bed, and even current events.  It’s freeing.

He hasn’t told his mother though, and he definitely doesn’t plan on it.  That’s something he’ll deal with in another lifetime.

 

~*~

 

It’s when Harry actually enters the building where he’s supposed to be working that he realizes he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to be doing—what his position is, what his task for the day is, nothing.

Everything becomes even more confusing when he’s informed that Ted had an emergency and isn’t in today.  He gets the news from Bobby (whom Harry’d discovered had been the sleepy one behind the register) as the boy reclines on a sofa in the corner of the bookstore and reads one of the large children’s books.

“Just do whatever,” he mumbles, waving Harry off just like before.

So Harry does exactly that.  He’s really good at doing _whatever_ ; he’s pretty certain that’s what he’s been doing all his life. 

He taps his fingers together as he wanders around the place with wide eyes, knowing he probably has a pass to go home and should probably take it.  It’s just that he doesn’t want to.  He has a desire to explore the place a bit and get a feel for where he’ll be spending a lot of time for a number of weeks.

As he takes slow steps down the aisle of magazines related to pop culture and cooking, he can’t help but notice how…lifeless the place is.  It’s almost like it’s draining him of any energy he’d once had when he’d entered.  He figures it’s probably the classical music, which is objectively enough to bore anyone to death if it’s listened to long enough. 

Another thing he notices after about two hours of aimless dallying and poking through things, is that there are no customers.  Probably about three have come in during the time period, which adds up to three times in total that Bobby has gotten up from his spot on the couch in order to check them out at the register.

He doesn’t understand it.  Do people not read books anymore?

His eyebrows furrow as he gently runs his fingers down the thick spine of one of the dictionaries and contemplates the answer to his own question.

He really can’t say anything when he knows that he, himself, hasn’t finished the entirety of a book in years, but he’s still concerned about _other_ people.  Certainly there’s still a percentage of the population that finds joy in immersing themselves in fiction.

After quite a while, Harry settles on standing in front of aisles that interest him and jotting down interesting titles onto a sheet of paper.  He’s on the extreme other side of the building from Bobby, and he’s completely left to his own company as he plucks different books out of the shelves and scribbles down titles with hopes of looking up reviews, and maybe eventually purchasing them.  He wants to turn reading back into a “thing”, since it’s obvious it’s not so popular anymore.

In the middle of pressing his sheet of paper against the aisle and writing, Harry loses grip of his blue gel pen and it falls onto the ground, rolling under the aisle and out of sight.

Harry smacks his teeth as he huffs, getting down on the ground in order to peek underneath it and see if his pen is within reach.  This pen isn’t just any _regular_ pen, though.  It’s his _lucky_ pen, and he refuses to move on with his life if he doesn’t retrieve it.

He reaches his fingers underneath the aisle as far as he can, the side of his face pressed against the thinly carpeted floor as he attempts to reach for it, but to no avail.  His hands are too big.

“ _Bobby_ ,” Harry hears quite loudly from somewhere behind him.  Somewhere relatively close.

“There’s a _person_ sprawled out on the floor in the section for Realistic Fiction,” the voice continues, and Harry pushes himself up to his knees in order to turn around and see who the owner of this voice is. 

The man just stares at him unblinkingly as he leans a hand against the aisle—it’s almost as though he’s concentrating on Harry’s face, or something.

“No, it’s just me,” Harry replies with a grin as he sits up and dusts his pants off.  “Well…I guess I _am_ a person, technically, but I’m not just some random—“

“Slow, ramble-y guy, okay _now_ I know where I remember you from,” the boy finally says, seemingly letting out a breath as though he’d been holding it in.

Harry leans his weight on his hands in order to stand up, his eyes huge and lost as he struggles to grasp what this person is talking about.  “What?”

“I’ve met you before.  At the post office.  Remember?” the guy says.

Harry stares at him for just a bit longer before it comes clear.  Harry probably would’ve remembered the boy if he were wearing his usual slight scowl and riding his skateboard, but—

The boy’s words begin to register to him.

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry says, his mouth hanging open.  “I’m not _slow_.  And that’s actually really offensive—”

“I meant _slow_ , as in slow-talking, slow-moving…” the boy replies as he crosses his arms. “It helped me to identify you almost instantly.”

Harry fixes his mouth in order to respond, but the boy beats him to it.

“Why are you here?” he asks sternly.  “And why are you wearing a nametag?”

Harry casually rests an elbow on one of the shelves as he pulls his lips into a lopsided grin, the boy not giving into any of it as he remains hard and irritable.

“Well, I work here now,” he says proudly.

In response, the boy just stares at him, and Harry can’t even begin to tell what he’s thinking.  Harry even looks behind himself and over his shoulder for a moment to check if there’s something else the boy might’ve seen, but there’s nothing.  The boy is simply staring at him, and suddenly, Harry feels naked.

“Do you know if you can help me with moving this aisle though?” Harry asks, gripping onto the shelves of the aisle.  “I dropped my lucky pen and it rolled under here.  I’d really like to get it back.”

This is what finally causes the boy to move, running a distressed hand through his hair and walking away, out of Harry’s line of vision.

Harry bites down at his bottom lip for a moment as his eyes remain on the area of the carpet the boy once stood in.  “…okay.”

He could’ve just _said_ he didn’t want to help.

Harry attempts to push the aisle himself, and with much effort and strength, he gets the thing to budge just a bit so that he can get down on the ground and have a better chance at procuring his pen.  He has to push it a few more inches every time before he finally retrieves it, and once he’s got that done, he feels gratified.

“What are you doing?” comes that boy’s voice again, and Harry’s just pushing himself up from the ground as he responds to it.

“I told you, I’m—“

“Can you just stay put?” he asks, putting up a hand and gesturing in Harry’s direction.  “Don’t break anything, or mess anything up, because _I’ll_ be in trouble—“

“Well, aren’t I supposed to do _something_?” Harry asks, laughing just a bit.  “I mean, I _work_ here.  I’ve been bored to death for hours now needing something to do.”

The boy bites the inside of his cheek for a moment as he stares at him, clearly trying to come up with something simple to keep him busy.

“Alphabetize the books,” is what he settles on saying, and then he walks away again.

Due to the hours Harry’d spent leisurely moving through the bookstore, he knows for a fact that absolutely _everything_ is in alphabetical order, and the boy probably knows it too, but he doesn’t argue with him.

He steps out of the aisles in order to look over to where the boy had gone, and he finds him situated behind the front counter, multiple books spread in front of him as he writes stuff down at an alarming speed.

That boy has seriously woken up on the wrong side of the bed.  Actually, judging by the fact that he was also unkind the last time they’d met, Harry safely assumes that he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed every day.  He even looks like he’s irritated at the pages he’s reading, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration as he continues to write things down as though his life depends on it.

Harry disregards it as he begins surveying the shelves in search of any books that are even slightly out of their designated area.  The bookstore continues to remain relatively quiet, and the piano music continues to threaten to drive Harry absolutely insane.

At some point, three kids that look as though they’re around the age of ten come in, laughing delightedly and looking through sections that amuse them.  Since no one else had taken the liberty of being professional, Harry guesses it’ll have to be _him_ that goes up to them and asks if they’re looking for anything in particular.

One of the boys, who has notably curly hair along with teeny freckles, suggests something with dragons, both of his other friends seemingly too shy to speak up.  Although Harry doesn’t know exactly where everything is in this place, he definitely has a good knowledge of various kinds of children’s books.

“Let me write these down for you,” Harry says, ripping a piece away from the paper he’d originally been writing on.  “I know some really awesome books you guys would probably love.”

“Does it have dragons?” the eager, freckled kid asks once he takes the slip of paper from Harry.

“Definitely,” Harry replies delightedly before crouching down to their level, bringing his voice down a few decibels in order to gain their undivided attention.

“See that guy over there?” Harry asks, pointing over to where Bobby continues to sit and read idly.  The boys nod in response, and Harry grins.  “Take this note over to him, and ask him for these books.  He’s…he’s sort of like a wizard.  He can make books magically appear.”

One of the quieter kids’ face (who also seems as though he’s the youngest) completely lights up with fascination, which fills Harry’s heart with an innocent warmth.

He shoos them away gleefully and doesn’t remain in Bobby’s line of sight so that he doesn’t have to see the glare the boy is going to definitely throw his way once he realizes Harry’d sent them over there.  In the process of doing so, however, he accidentally catches the other guy's eye from across the room, and the boy is staring at him, although it’s not the same perplexed, almost annoyed stare from before—it’s almost inquisitive and curious, as though he’d watched the whole thing go down. 

It becomes clear he hadn’t _planned_ on Harry to notice the fact that he was looking at him, because not before long, he places his eyes back down in front of him and continues his work.

Eventually, the boys approach him at the register, which is what finally prompts the boy to put an end to whatever he’s working on and actually show them attention.  As Harry watches from afar, it seems like he actually…puts some effort into engaging them.  He’s smiling at them as he scans the books, commenting on what they’d chosen, making conversation, and Harry knows it shouldn’t throw him off so much, because he doesn’t even know this boy anyway, but it does.

The place is once again back to its usual mundane atmosphere after the entrance door closes behind the boys.

Not much time passes before Bobby clocks out, Harry assuming it’s his time to leave.  He wonders if he’d be able to get away with literally doing nothing if Ted had been here.  Harry guesses he’ll just have to wait and see.

This leaves Harry alone in the bookstore with that other boy, and he continues his exciting task of “organizing” bookshelves that are already organized.  He legitimately checks every crevice of the place in order to make sure everything is in order, and eventually, he’s actually…done.

And left with nothing to do, yet again.

Harry walks over to the boy at the front counter, joining his hands together as he approaches.  The boy’s eyes dart up to meet his approach as he becomes aware of his presence, and Harry grins nicely.

“I’m done,” he says.

The boy shifts his eyes back down to his work (and it looks like—is he doing _homework?)_ as Harry continues to rock back and forth on his feet as he stands in front of him.  Harry finally gets a moment to properly look at his nametag, and he finds that it reads _Louis._ In all honesty, the boy doesn’t seem like a “Louis”, but Harry figures he’ll have to get used to it.

“Just stay behind that register,” he says, tilting his head to the right of him nonchalantly in order to indicate which register he’s talking about.

Harry doesn’t hesitate before rounding the counter in order to do just that, taking a seat at the stool to the right of Louis and resting his chin on his fist.

“Do you know how to work a register?” the boy asks, his voice relatively quiet.

Harry takes a moment to think, reflecting back on his short time as a fast-food employee.  “I—I’m not the best, but I can try—“

“Great.  Just check out anyone else that comes in, and only bother me if you need help,” Louis replies, squinting just a bit as he leans in closer to his textbook in order to read whatever’s on it.

“Oh…” Harry starts, setting his knuckles down against the countertop.  “Okay.”

Surprisingly, within seconds of the boy’s demands, a young pair seems to casually stroll in, already beginning to leisurely browse the aisles.

Harry wants to ask them if they need help, or if they’re looking for anything in particular—he wants to so _badly_ —but Louis had told him to stay behind the register, and he doesn’t feel like getting on anyone’s bad side so early on.  It might be a little too late for him and Bobby in that aspect though, he now realizes.

When it comes time to check them out, Harry does so successfully—after a painfully long time of asking Louis to put his employee number in, questioning which buttons mean what, and asking if he can open the register for him because he’d accidentally closed it before giving them their change.  The couple is patient however, which Harry is ever thankful for.

Once they leave, it seems the place is even quieter than before.  That’s probably because of the fact that he’s now sitting within five feet of Louis and neither of them are saying anything to each other, even though they should.

Harry thinks he should definitely get the name of the music that’s currently playing in case he ever has trouble falling asleep at night.  It’s _that_ boring.

Harry looks behind him at the clock that’s up on the wall, seriously beginning to wonder how much longer he’ll have to endure this.  He’s decided on staying for the entirety of the work day he and Ted had discussed, and even though he probably doesn’t have to anymore, he feels like there’s a principle behind remaining here.

At some point, Harry finds himself studying the side of Louis’ face as the boy continues to vigorously study, his eyes strangely squinted as though he’s not sure what he’s reading on the page.  Harry doesn’t realize how intensely he’s watching him until the boy’s eyes dart in his direction and Harry has to quickly avert his attention.

“Is there something wrong—“

“Nope,” Harry replies, twiddling his thumbs a bit as he looks around at the rest of the bookstore.

More silence. 

God, Harry _can’t_ take this anymore.  Especially if this turns into an everyday thing.  He needs to talk to people—he _loves_ talking to people.  Can he really have a job where the most exciting part of his day is watching the register slide open?

Louis speaks up after a while, his voice low and casual as Harry listens.  “Are you trying to sabotage me?”

Harry blinks at the side of his face for a moment, taking in the fact that the boy actually asked the question so casually.  “What.”

Louis finally holds his pen a bit more loosely as he stops writing and directs his eyes upward to Harry.  “First, you just happened to show up at the post office at the same time as me, _mailing_ the exact same thing as me, and now all of a sudden, you _work_ at the same place as me.”

Harry slides down from his stool, his mind going “fuck it” in terms of staying where he’s told, along with being forced to listen to this torturous music.

“Bro, I don’t even know you,” Harry replies as he rounds the counter and starts on his journey in search of where the classical tunes are being played from. 

“ _Bro_ ,” Louis starts, clearly mocking him as his eyes follow Harry’s every move.  “Obviously you know _something_ , since you keep showing up everywhere.”

Harry finds the source of the music in an area towards the back corner of the bookstore, and he becomes thoroughly annoyed at what he sees.

“ _Seriously_?” Harry asks as he approaches the small table where two speakers are set up and connected to a central phone by a cord.  “This is playing from someone’s _phone_?  I thought it was some ancient, dusty record that was spinning,” Harry says exhaustedly, already beginning to hear Louis’ footsteps approaching him as he grips the cord and yanks it away from the phone.

“Hey,” comes Louis’ voice as he finally walks up to him.  “You can’t touch that.”

Harry holds the phone out toward him.  “This yours?”

Louis snatches it out of his hand as he practically glowers at him.  “You can’t just come in here and mess things up.  Ted specifically says he only wants this type of music playing, and you shouldn’t go against his orders.”

Harry whistles casually as he hooks his own phone up to the speakers, before scrolling through his screen in order to browse all his playlists.

He brings the phone an inch closer to his face as Louis continues to huff next to him, and he speaks halfheartedly as he struggles to decide on a song.  “Well Ted’s not here, is he?”

Louis stammers a bit as Harry finally selects a song in his library, causing “Black Francis” by The Orwells to play throughout the store as Harry turns it up to a higher volume.

Louis pretty much stares at Harry wordlessly, although Harry’s no longer even acknowledging his presence as he motions his hands enthusiastically, banging against the imaginary drum set in his mind as he plays in time with the song.

“I want no part of this,” Louis finally says as he scrunches a hand in his hair, almost as though he’s on the verge of pulling the strands out, before walking away.

“I-I need a smoke,” Harry hears him mutter.

Harry steps out of the aisle, his eyes following Louis as he continues to wildly bang on his imaginary drum set.  “Wouldn’t recommend it,” Harry says, the boy now a great distance away as he approaches the front exit.

“I don’t need a second mother, but thank you!” is the last thing he yells before reaching into his pocket and pushing the door open.

Harry watches him through the glass doors of the entrance, mouthing along to the words on the song as he observes the way the boy now lights the cigarette quickly, as though it’s going to get away.  Harry chews on his bottom lip for a moment as he watches him, before he decides to go back to greatly enjoying his own great taste in music.

He immerses himself into the music, fully swinging his arm as though he’s putting his all into strumming an amplified guitar, and it seems as though the song ends way too soon.

He doesn’t hesitate to go back over to his phone in order to choose the next song, and he ends up spending a substantial amount of time jamming out to his own shit, throwing his own little concert in the middle of the aisles.  He thinks he could get used to doing this regularly, since it’s clear that the bookstore is often lifeless and Louis’ not stern enough to stop him from doing anything.

Once Louis comes back in while Harry’s rocking out to the fifth song he’s chosen, surprisingly, he doesn’t immediately come back over in order to scold Harry.  He goes back to where he’d initially been sitting and simply continues working on his homework.  It doesn’t even seem like he’s irritated, or giving Harry the silent treatment, or anything of the sort.  He just seems…calmer.

Harry walks over to his phone in order to raise down the music just a bit, before skipping back over to Louis, a new sense of enthusiasm and adrenaline rushing through him now that he’s gotten some sort of kick out of this work day.

Louis looks up at him as Harry leans on the counter, directly in front of the boy.

“You _do_ seem much more chill now,” Harry comments, tapping the pads of his fingers against the counter as Louis looks up at him.

“That’s kind of the point,” Louis replies easily.

Harry bites the corner of his lip for a moment as he and Louis hold eye contact.  “But…you _do_ know there’s other ways to calm yourself, right?”

“Yeah, and I also know I didn’t ask,” Louis replies.

Harry tries to contain an amused grin that’s beginning to form on his lips from Louis’ blunt hostility.

“Woah there, Lewis,” he says, grabbing one of the textbooks Louis had pushed to the side and sliding it towards himself.  “I’m just trying to look out for you.”  He flips the pages of what he quickly discovers to be an anatomy book, his eyes now cast upon endless vivid diagrams.

“It’s Louis,” the boy corrects him, vigorously tapping his pencil against his notebook.

Harry pauses his page-turning for a moment, but eventually he nods briefly before continuing his action of flipping through the textbook.  “So the ‘s’ is silent.  I can dig it.”

Louis shakes his head just a bit before directing his attention back down to his work and continuing to write.

Harry takes a moment to bring his eyes up to the boy, simply studying him as he subconsciously taps his foot to the song that’s playing.  He can’t help but notice that his hair is kind of styled in a fringed, unkempt fashion.  It’s like a fluffy ball of fuzz, and it contradicts harshly with the fact that he attempts to be such an ill-mannered person.  Harry can’t help but wonder why he’s so…on edge.  Harry figures they’re the same age, and Harry definitely can’t think of anything that could possibly cause him to be as tense as it seems Louis is twenty-four seven.

Harry glances up at the clock before shaking his head back to life, taking a step back from the counter.

“I know I have ten minutes left, but I’m just gonna go ahead and go,” Harry says, backing away from the counter and pointing over his shoulder as Louis looks up.  “I have this really important thing to get to.”

Louis looks up at him as he pauses his writing, a sort of confused innocence behind his features that’s quite refreshing for Harry.  “Yes, because that’s completely allowed in a professional setting.”

“Glad you understand!” Harry replies from where he’s now unhooking his phone from the speakers.

Eventually, Harry leaves the place feeling slightly better about everything, and he decides that Louis is nice.  Even though the boy has given him absolutely no reason to think such a thing, Harry still feels that he’s a decent boy.  He just needs to loosen up a bit.

He’s definitely not as worn-out and ready for a nap as he thought he’d be, so he doesn’t see the harm in joining Zayn and Niall in kicking back and hanging out with some dudes from Omega Sigma.  The boys and the fraternity have always been especially close, and they usually invite the boys to little closed events like this, as well as provide them with other perks, like not having to pay for certain parties, getting the exclusive answers to future exams, and not having to pitch in for weed.

Despite the fact that, as soon as Harry reaches his front door, Niall and Zayn are turning him around in order to leave right back out for the kickback, Harry still attempts to protest leaving so soon, because he’s definitely not in the festive attire he’d like to be seen in.  His protests are fruitless, however, because both of the boys simply continue to convince him that he looks fine, and soon, Harry finds himself stood right outside of the grand fraternity house.

They’re greeted with hugs and enthusiastic claps of hands, and within no time, they’re situated outside in the backyard, spread amongst the porch and the damp grass, all of them remarkably high.

As before mentioned, Harry _doesn’t_ drink, and he also doesn’t smoke cigarettes, but he does occasionally get high from time to time.  He mostly only does it in social situations, like these. 

He’s pretty sure he’s elevated to a completely different plane right now as he sits in the grass, stroking at Zayn’s face as the boy lies in his lap and laughs at something that Jeffery had said.  Harry knew he should’ve opted for the blunt instead of the brownie, because right now, he’s not sure how he’s still alive.

Niall’s off to the side making a ridiculous attempt at doing gymnastics with Frederick, and Harry has remained here with Zayn, sat in a sort of sloppy circle with several members of the fraternity as the rest of them continue to pass a blunt.

The current topic of conversation seems to be about a girl on the cheerleading team who’s particularly attractive, and Harry gently runs his fingers down Zayn’s cheek as he struggles to pay attention.

“Isn’t she dating someone though?” Zayn asks at some point, to which the boys begin to scoff.

“Not with the skirt she was wearing on Friday,” Jeffery replies, to which a lot of them begin to laugh, and Harry’s eyebrows furrow severely, due to the fact that he doesn’t understand the joke, and also because everyone’s laughs are sort of blending into each other and echoing in his mind and he’s _very_ high right now.

He begins to think about extremely unrelated things as they continue their conversation, which is also something that Harry does when he’s sober.  He just feels a bit awkward whenever the boys make their “locker room” jokes, because he only feels like it draws attention to the fact that Harry’s not invested in them like everyone else is, which usually prompts someone to eventually make a gay joke that they think Harry’s comfortable with.

They’re in the middle of talking about some fundraiser that’s supposed to take place on campus and how they should crash it, when Harry loses control of his mouth and speaks.

“ _Pineapples_ ,” Harry practically blurts, his eyes pretty much glazed over as he stares at nothing.  His focus is skewed, but he’s pretty sure everyone’s attention is on him now that he’s abruptly spoken.

Xavier speaks through a choked giggle as it becomes clear they’re all taking joy out of how high Harry is right now.  “What about pineapples, Harry?”

Harry slowly shifts his head up in order to look at Xavier from where the boy’s sat across from him on top of a plastic chair.

“People say pineapples don’t belong on pizza, because it’s a fruit,” Harry replies, his words slow as his face twists in deep confusion.  “But…a tomato is a fruit, isn’t it?”

Everyone begins laughing wholeheartedly now, even Zayn shaking underneath him as his mouth spreads into a wide smile.  Harry doesn’t understand why it’s so funny.

“That’s quite a fruity thing to ask,” Xavier says as he brings his solo cup to his mouth in order to take a sip, and this causes everyone to erupt into even more laughter.

“Knock it off,” he hears a boy, which he believes to be named Jasper, say.

It takes a full five minutes for Harry to understand the joke as he just stares into empty space, and when he does, everyone has long moved on to a different topic.

Harry takes a moment to study this boy, supposedly named Jasper, as he just now registers the fact that the boy had defended him, even if it was seven minutes ago. 

At some point, Harry gets up in order to get a water bottle out of the cooler, chugging it down with intent to sober up just a little.  He’s on his second bottle of water when Zayn approaches him, and he hadn’t even realized the boy was there until he began to hear him talking to the right of him.

“Go for it,” the boy says.

Harry slowly turns to him, gradually bringing the bottle away from his mouth as he blinks.  “Go for what?”

“Jasper,” Zayn says, tugging on the collar of Harry’s shirt.  “Saw you checking him out.  He stood up for you.”

Harry rubs a hand down his cheek as he comes face to face with how different Zayn and Niall are.

Niall, as already established from this morning, causes a slight bump in Harry’s efforts to be “out”, because of the fact that he forgets about Harry being gay fairly often.

 _Zayn_ , however, is the opposite, and now that Harry’s brought this part of himself to light, the boy assumes that every living, breathing guy Harry looks at, he’s in love with.  He doesn’t know how to communicate to the boy that he is _not_ attracted and looking to hook up with every guy he sees.  He knows it’s because Zayn’s trying his best to let him feel comfortable after having been locked up for so long, and it’s very thoughtful of him, but it’s really exhausting sometimes.

“You’ve gotta break those restraints you imposed on yourself,” Zayn continues, jabbing a soft finger into his chest.  “You are _amazing_ , okay?” Zayn says, his eyes lidded as they hold eye contact.  Harry thinks for a moment that the boy is probably higher than _him_.

Suddenly, Zayn turns him around, and Harry finds himself facing the area by the foosball table where Jasper now stands, wearing that same oversized jersey and messing around with the handles at the edges of the structure.

“Go for it,” Zayn whispers in his ear, and before Harry knows it, he’s being pushed in that direction, his mind too slow to stop his feet in time.

The boy notices Harry’s approach and quirks an eyebrow up, taking one of the balls from the table in his hands and rolling it around.  He seems as though he’s waiting nicely for Harry to say anything, because the boy had literally just walked up and set his water bottle down without saying a word.

As more time passes, Harry says absolutely nothing, which has Jasper beginning to chuckle a bit as he probably takes amusement out of this, which Harry doesn’t understand.

Harry sucks in his bottom lip as his eyes move up, catching sight of one of the windows on the second story of the frat house and how the white drapes attached to it are flowing in the breeze.

“Drapes,” Harry says, not even having been prepared to utter anything.  Jasper turns to face him more directly, tilting his head up and waiting for what Harry has to say, even more amusement in his facial expression than before.

“They’re so satisfying,” Harry continues, now bringing his red eyes back forward to meet Jasper’s.  “The way they flap in the wind, and you-you know, they just—“

“Dude, how high are you right now?” he suddenly asks, his question ending in laughter.

“Very,” Harry replies bluntly.  “I don’t even know how I’m still standing straight.”

Jasper laughs in response, and they share a nice, easy moment as they both begin to grow comfortable—and then Harry makes the mistake of leaning his arm against the foosball table.

The problem is, his mind completely misjudges where it's situated, and he misses the edge by a few inches, which causes him to fall flat on his ass particularly hard.

This garners the attention of mostly everyone around as they laugh especially hard because of the states they’re all in, and Harry rubs at his backside as he begins to feel heaping amounts of embarrassment.

Even Jasper is hysterical as he stays down on the ground in defeat, which Harry figures ruins whatever chance he had at…whatever he’s getting at here.  Not that he even really cared anyway, because again, he doesn’t have a thing for Jasper.

It’s just that it would’ve been nice to at least prove to himself he’s getting better at this whole “flirting with guys” thing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it for now! i'll be updating tuesdays and fridays
> 
> also you should totally let me know what you think so far : )))


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

“Did you already get it?” is the first thing Louis asks once he comes in through the front door, dropping his skateboard by the living room couch before sliding off his backpack.

“Get what?” Liam asks, pausing as he’s in the midst of crouching down on the floor, using a disinfectant wipe to thoroughly cleanse one of the legs of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table.  The kitchen is noticeably much cleaner, the air smells lemony-fresh, and the appliances are shining in an almost surreal fashion as Liam continues to narrow his eyes in concentration and not even turn his head slightly in Louis’ direction.

Louis approaches the kitchen counter, attempting to tame his restless hands by joining them as they rest against the surface.

“The _mail_ ,” Louis says, suppressing the desire to speak urgently.

Louis had just checked their mailbox for anything new, he came up absolutely empty, and it’s been over _two weeks_ —not that Louis’ been counting the days or anything. 

He’s pretty sure that by now he would’ve been told if he’d gotten the internship or not.  Surely they would let him know if he wasn’t adequate enough to be considered, right?

Liam goes quite a while without saying anything as he darts his tongue out in concentration, his plastic-gloved hands making slow, precise movements in order to work along the length of the chair leg.  Louis clasps his hands together even tighter.

“I don’t touch your mail,” is what Liam finally replies with, and Louis immediately groans as he pushes away from the counter.

He throws his hands up in frustration as he tightens his jaw.  “You know you’re no help, right?”

He resists the urge to pull out his hair as he goes over to the living room couch and throws himself back against it, trying his best not to jump to conclusions.  It’s quite a difficult task, however, because jumping to conclusions is pretty much his brain’s default reaction to anything that’s slightly stressful.

Maybe he didn’t get it.  Maybe he just has to accept the fact that he’s not going to win at everything, and in fact will most likely fail in the grand scheme of things. 

Or maybe it’s too soon to know, and he should simply wait.  They probably haven’t even sent out acceptance letters yet.  He just needs to _relax_.  Wait it out a bit more.

Louis lets his head rest back against the couch as he takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Why do you care about it so much?” Liam asks, his voice arising from seemingly out of nowhere.  He doesn’t sound genuinely curious, as most would when asking the question.  Instead, there’s an annoyed edge to his voice, as though he’s sick of Louis whining about it.

Louis turns his head where it rests on the couch, setting his eyes upon Liam, who has now moved onto the _second_ chair leg on the same seat he’s been working on for a while now. 

“Well you see, Liam,” Louis begins, knowing the boy doesn’t truly care but preparing to go into detail anyway.  “I have a plan for my life, okay?  And in this plan, everything has to stay on _track,_ ” he motions out in front of himself, his eyes focused and his mind beginning to grow more anxious.  “If even _one_ thing goes wrong, then my five year plan goes down the drain.”

“Remind me what that plan is again?” Liam asks absentmindedly, and Louis’ becoming convinced the boy’s just talking to him in order to keep himself occupied.

“Go to graduate school, have a stable job,” Louis begins, counting things off on his fingers.  “Get married, and start a family.”

The boy says nothing in response as the sound of the disinfectant wipe smoothing across the surface begins to soothe Louis in a strange kind of way.

“You don’t need a stupid internship to get into graduate school,” Liam replies after a while.

Louis smacks his teeth in response, because he doesn’t know why he ever attempts to explain anything to Liam.  He really doesn’t.

“I want to go to the top-tier ones,” Louis says.  “Prestigious ones.  They’re further away and if I get accepted into one, I’ll finally get to move the fuck out of here.”  He pushes himself up off of the couch and starts towards his room, knowing he doesn’t have much time before he has to leave back out for work.

All he hears from Liam is a disinterested “hmm” in response before he closes his bedroom door.

Louis’ just trying to build his resume, is all.  He’s spent _years_ doing exactly that by joining clubs, working several jobs, volunteering at shelters, being elected as vice president of the student council, and he really wants the cherry on top of it all to be this internship that’s already hard enough to obtain as it is.  It’s the _only_ option.  His father made that very clear.

It also helps that the internship is in a completely different city that’s almost six hours away from where he currently lives, which is the icing on top of _everything_.  He can move out and get started with the rest of his life even sooner if he pulls this off.

Who knows? Louis might even get offered a scholarship to one of his dream schools if everything goes as planned, and he wouldn’t have to worry about burdening his mother with more educational costs, along with disappointing his father and being deemed, once again, a failure.  He just wants to succeed.

He decides to just calm down for a while and attempt not to think about it too much, instead quickly getting ready for a long, boring day of work.

Thankfully, once he finally walks through the front entrance of the bookstore and the little bell above the door jingles, a certain airheaded boy is nowhere to be seen.  Unsurprisingly, this causes Louis’ day to go by much more smoothly, because he doesn’t have to worry about Ted forcing him to teach Harry stuff, the boy being overall quite distracting from whatever task Louis’ supposed to be doing, and the boy asking questions that he could’ve easily found the answers to himself.

Louis’ working in order to replace messed up price stickers on certain books, and he’s sat down on the ground in a corner of one of the aisles as he continues to perform the tedious task.

One weird thing about this work day, however, is the fact that there’s no longer any classical music playing.  Instead, there’s some Spotify playlist on shuffle that’s providing the bookstore with a plethora of recent popular songs.  It’s still just a bit irritating, because hearing certain songs on the radio all the time and _then_ coming to work and hearing them again can be draining, but it’s definitely a step up from before.

Louis doesn’t hesitate to ask Ted about it when he catches the guy walking by his aisle, and Ted reverses his steps once he hears the call of his name.

Ted is a fairly young, mellowed guy (probably five years older than Louis at most), and he’s not too harsh as a manager if Louis’ being honest.  That’s probably the reason Louis has had this job for so long; he can’t bear having a boss that actually _cares_ about things.  The only things this guy cares about (or at least, _used_ to care about) are his classical music playing throughout the bookstore and his scarce number of employees actually showing up when they’re supposed to.  He’s also the only one who works here that actually tucks in his shirt, which Louis thinks he does in order to give himself _some_ sense of rank.

“Something you need?” he asks, approaching Louis as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Not really.  I was just wondering why we’ve suddenly turned into a pop music nightclub over night?” Louis asks as he works to lay a new price sticker over an old one.

Ted grins lopsidedly as he leans his side against the nearest shelf.  “At first I was really against it, actually.”

“As we all know you would be,” Louis replies.

“But then Harry convinced me it would be a good idea,” Ted continues.  “Better for the atmosphere, better for customer experience, attracts more people.”

Louis stares at him with a displeased expression as he remains far below him on the ground.  “ _Harry_?  Seriously. _That’s_ what got you to see the light.”

“What can I say?  He’s very persuasive,” Ted says, standing up from the book shelf in order to continue his journey to wherever he’d been going. 

“You sure about that?” Louis calls after him. 

Although he hasn’t been working with the boy for long, he doesn’t think he can classify Harry as a persuasive guy.

But it _does_ bite, just a little.  Louis had campaigned to Ted probably ten times by now about changing the music and failed, and then in comes this random fellow who succeeds in changing the guy’s mind after just a few days.

Louis decides to shrug it off, however, because it’s not a big deal.  He just needs to focus on the fact that _finally_ , he and Harry aren’t working at the same time on the same day, and he can get through his hours without anyone trying to start a conversation with him.

His focus only lasts for so long, because eventually, Harry _does_ waltz in.  Louis doesn’t even know the boy’s there until he needs to grab some scissors from the front counter and finds the boy sat behind it, fiddling with the register.

“When did you get here?” Louis asks hesitantly, slowing his steps just a bit as he approaches the counter.

Harry looks up, clearly not having realized Louis coming toward him.  “Oh.  Got here not too long ago.”

Louis blinks at him for a moment, not quite knowing what to say.

“But _hi_ ,” Harry continues, singing the word in sort of a long, drawn out fashion that annoys Louis more than it probably should.

“Are you high all the time?” Louis asks curiously, coming up to set an elbow against the counter in front of the boy.

Harry shakes his head as his dimples begin to deepen on either side of his cheeks.  “Only on life.”

“Awesome.  Now do you know if you can grab some scissors from behind the counter for me?” Louis asks, adding a grin at the end for cordiality.

“Sure, captain,” Harry replies as he slides down from his stool in order to pull open the various drawers from underneath the counter.

Louis is fully prepared for how Harry takes quite a while to retrieve them, his eyebrows beginning to furrow in confusion as he becomes perplexed at the many drawers that he has to rummage through.  Louis begins to impatiently tap his fingers against the table.

“Got ‘em,” Harry says enthusiastically, after a fair period of searching.  He holds it out towards Louis as he settles himself back on his stool, a thoroughly gratified expression now spreading across his face.

Louis stares down at the scissors for a moment, doing what he often does whenever Harry does _anything_ ; he’s trying to figure out why the boy is the way he is.

And then Louis takes it from him with a grin and a “thanks”.

“You up for another round of paper football today?” Harry asks before Louis can walk away.  The boy does a flicking motion with his fingers in order to imitate flicking the piece of paper across the field (or more accurately, the surface of the counter). 

Louis had never been “up” for playing paper football in the first place.  The “round” that Harry’s referring to only consisted of him flicking pieces of paper in Louis’ direction repeatedly and urging him to flick it back.

“Unfortunately, and very sadly, I’m not working the registers with you today,” Louis says, pointing over to the far area of the store where he’d been working for hours now.  “I’m on sticker duty.  I’ll see you around though,” Louis adds, right before turning around in order to make it back over to where he’d originally been situated.

“Alright.  Bye Lewis!”

“ _Louis_!” he yells back, already a fair distance away from Harry as he walks.

Before he can get much further away though, an anxious thought becomes prominent in his mind and causes him to reverse his steps substantially before turning back toward Harry.  The boy quirks an eyebrow up at him in response to his approach.

“Have you…” Louis starts, his words just a bit reluctant as he steps forward.  “Have you gotten anything in the mail yet?” Louis asks, not really knowing why he’s brought his voice down to a quiet level, as though he’s sharing a secret.

Harry purses his lips as he shakes his head.  “Nope,” he replies.

Louis lets out a very noticeable breath of relief as he becomes much calmer about the whole situation, and he turns back around in order to get back to work.

Once again, before he can get very far, something else stops him.

“Now you’re happy you’ve got confirmation I’m not better than you, right?” Harry asks, laughing just a bit at the end of his sentence. 

Louis turns back toward him, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion.  “I…never said I was better—“

“Yeah, but I know that’s why you asked,” Harry replies, looking down at his fingers as they mess with each other above the countertop.  He lets out a soft “pfft” sound as he begins to laugh some more, messing with the dust forming on the register as he runs his finger along the edge of it.  “You’re worried about the _wrong_ things, man,” Harry says, dragging out the word “wrong” to an inappropriate length.

“What are you talking about?” Louis asks, now becoming serious and slightly offended at the fact that the boy’s come for him out of nowhere.

“You need to focus on yourself.  Start from within,” Harry replies, now looking back up at him with his wide eyes.  “Don’t compare yourself to me, don’t freak out about things that are out of your control…it’ll give you stress lines at—how old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” Louis answers.

Harry’s entire face seems to light up with joy as he smiles at Louis.  “We’re in the same age club.  Gimme some,” he says, holding a hand up in the air toward Louis as he leans over the counter, probably with intent for the boy to slap hands with his in a high five.

“Just get on with it,” Louis says, ignoring his hand.  “I thought you had a point you were trying to get across.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry says, settling back into his own seat and lowering his hand.  “You’re only twenty-two.  Stop worrying so much.”

Louis raises his eyebrows briefly, resisting the urge to laugh in Harry’s face with mockery, because the boy genuinely thinks he knows what he’s talking about and it’s exceedingly funny.

“Listen, Harry,” Louis says, taking only two steps forward.  “You don’t know me.  You don’t know anything about me, and I’d really love for you not to act like you do.”

“Uh, hello?” Harry begins, motioning between the both of them.  “We’re on a first name basis, we’ve been working together for a while now—I think at this point, we can agree that we _know each other_.”

Louis crosses his arms as he tilts his head at him, trying with his eyes to let the boy know that he’s really starting to push it right about now.

“Just trying to give you advice,” Harry says with a shrug.

“Well,” Louis begins, coming up to the counter in order to pick up the blue pen (what Harry’s deemed his “lucky pen” several times by now) that’s resting on top of the register.  “I don’t think I want to be taking advice from someone who thinks there’s magic in a _pen_.”

Harry actually _gasps_ with offense in response, and Louis doesn’t waste another second before dropping the pen back on top of the register and finally going back to where he’d been _trying_ to go for quite a while now.  This time, he makes a point not to stop and turn around.

The rest of Louis’ day goes rather swell, despite the fact that it’d seemed like it was about to take a turn once Harry’d arrived.  He just focuses on the mere hour of work he has left before he’s able to finally go home and _rest_ for the first time in a million years, and he doesn’t even think about Harry’s words, and how the boy suddenly thinks he’s the philosopher of the century.

Louis _doesn’t_ think he’s better than anyone.  He really doesn’t.

He just…knows that he works harder than majority of the people he comes in contact with—especially _Harry_ , for crying out loud—and he thinks it makes sense that he should be graced with more opportunities because of it.  It’s logical.

Louis’ day gets even better once he’s rested in his living room, filling the contents of his stomach with chicken noodle soup, and talking to his mother on the phone after she’d called him unexpectedly.  Conversations with his mother always immensely improve even his worst days.

“How’s Liam?  Is he doing okay?” she asks at some point in their conversation.

Louis sighs.  God bless her oblivious, kindhearted little soul.

“I don’t know how he’s doing,” Louis replies with a chuckle, before bringing his spoon to his mouth and taking a moment to chew and swallow.  “I don’t _ever_ know what goes on with him.”

His mother returns his sigh, except hers is more of a way to communicate to Louis that she’s disappointed.  “You guys could end up very close if you ever opened up to each other,” she says hopefully.  “You know, a lot of long term friendships happen at your age.”

“Well, I can go ahead and tell you it’s certainly not going to happen with him,” Louis replies with a shake of his head.  “Besides, I’m not staying here for long anyway.”

There’s a brief silence on his mother’s side of the line before she speaks up.  “So you’re still sure about that?”

 _“Yes,_ ” Louis replies.  “Whether it’s through this internship or through graduate school, I’m getting out of here.”

There’s more silence, save for one of her solemn, heavy breaths that she throws Louis’ way whenever she wants the boy to pick up on something she won’t explicitly say.

“Listen,” Louis starts, using a more…sweet tone of voice in order to soothe her.  “I _love_ living so close to you and dad—I mean, if I run out of dishwashing soap you can bring some to me in under twenty minutes, that’s _amazing_ —but…I feel like I need to…I dunno,” he continues, motioning uselessly with his free hand.  “Get more into the practice of being alone, and independent, and an _adult_ , and all that good stuff.”

“You don’t have to be alone though,” his mother replies, her voice gentle and low.

“Well I would sure like to _live_ alone,” Louis replies, his mouth half full as he chews.  “How’s Elizabeth by the way?  Haven’t heard from her in months.”

“Oh, you know, she’s doing the usual,” she replies casually, sounding as though she’s occupied with something.  It _is_ Thursday, so Louis wouldn’t be surprised if she was performing her usual laundry routine right now.  “Found a boy, so she drops off the face of the earth.  The girl doesn’t even _call_ me.  _I’m_ always the one who reaches out.”

Louis’ face twists just a bit as he keeps his phone pressed against his ear.  “ _Another_ one?  I swear she doesn’t ever rest.”

“That’s what I keep telling her,” his mother replies.  “And guess who always ends up having to comfort her after a heartbreak?”

“I’d gladly take that position,” Louis says, lazily working his spoon through the contents in his bowl.  “But you know I’m not good with that kind of stuff.”

His mother scoffs lightheartedly.  “I’m sure I’ll be comforting _you_ about the exact same thing.”

Louis shakes his head vigorously as he scrunches his nose.  “I definitely don’t see that happening.”

 

~*~

 

It’s the day of the fundraiser; a day that Louis has spent countless meetings bickering with the other members of the student activities council about, a day that everyone’s been running rampant for the past three days trying to properly set up, a day that’s now right on track to going perfectly as planned.

Louis had successfully gotten everyone to change their minds, making the switch from running a marathon for charity, to organizing a pie eating contest for charity.  It’s fun, it’s engaging, it’s cheap, and Louis _doesn’t_ have to embarrass himself by jogging for long periods of time.

It’s quite a hassle to set up at the very last minute since it’d taken everyone so long to finally decide on it, but everyone comes together in order to get it done.

It’s set up on the main front lawn of the university, and after several hours, it’s complete with speakers for festive music, orange ribbons hanging from the sides of the white tent they spent much time putting up, students actually _coming_ in order to participate and cheer the contestants on, and many plastic chairs for convenience.

There are bids placed on each contestant of the contest, and the donors of whichever one consumes the most of the cherry pie that’s rested on the table in front of them in under a minute, get free coupons for pizza.  All the money’s ultimately going towards charities for leukemia _and_ students are also being rewarded in greasy food, so everyone wins.

Louis couldn’t be happier about how well everything seems to be going as he watches one of the members introduce all the contestants through the mic she’s holding.  The sun is out and weather is nice because they’ve chosen the perfect day to do this outside, the students are participating and making donations, and Louis feels _accomplished_.  It’s times like these where he remembers that getting involved isn’t just about building his resume and checking off things that he knows schools will look at, but it’s actually fulfilling in a way that allows him to feel good about himself.  He often forgets the big picture when he’s constantly rushing around and spreading himself thin.

It’s just as they’re getting ready to press the timer to begin the competition that everything starts to go wrong.

Louis should’ve known things were going to go downhill after spotting the golf carts in the distance; it’s just that he thought they were the regular, _school_ golf carts. 

Instead, they’re being driven by (and filled _with_ ) the reckless idiots from Omega Sigma as they speed through the grass of the lawn quite fast.

Louis also hadn’t noticed they’d all come bearing water guns until it was too late.

The boys are hopping out of the golf carts in heaps, some staying in the carts and shooting as they drive by, people are out of their chairs running, either in horror or with glee as they attempt to flee the sprays of water, and everything has turned chaotic.

For many students, however, it seems to have turned into an exciting sprinkler party as they dodge all of the Omega Sigmas that attempt to spray people, despite the fact that the tent is beginning to collapse and someone has tugged down a significant portion of the decorative orange ribbons.

Louis doesn’t even remember the pies until he’s running up to where they remain lined up on the front table, the contestants long gone and having joined everybody in an impromptu water celebration.

“What the _fuck_?” Louis yells at no one in particular, frustrated from the fact that all the pies are soggy, the fact that his hair is damp, and the fact that just a few of the boys are beginning to stop running around once they notice Louis in distress.

One guy seems to have been approaching him in order to shoot him down with a water gun, but he slowly lowers it once he comes closer, now beginning to realize something that Louis’ not quite sure about.

“Dude…sorry about that,” he says, looking down at the tragic pies as he now shakes his head.

Instead of verbally responding in ways that Louis’ sure would make him look like Satan, he flicks the guy off before storming away with his hands crossed over his chest, intent to be alone and sulk in the fact that something he’s been planning for so long went to complete _shit_.

He gets halted before he can get very far by Alyssa, one of the particularly enthusiastic members on the council, stopping him on his shoulder in order to console him.

“We still raised a lot of money, Louis,” she says, her hair completely soaked as she continues to smile.  “Don’t stress.”

Louis shrugs her off instead of replying, knowing that if he continues to stand in front of her for another second, he’s going to unjustly direct his aggressive frustration onto her.

Students begin fleeing as it becomes clear (through the panicked yells of various people) that one of the school officials is making their way over.  Louis’ definitely not going to stick around to explain anything.

The boys who had started the mess are fleeing in golf carts, and Louis’ in the process of finding somewhere to fuck off and smoke, when the figure of some tall, graceless fellow jogging across the field catches his eye.

Louis stops his walking slowly, blinking for a moment as he properly looks at the boy and the boy properly looks at him.

It’s Harry, his baseball cap is on backwards as it rests in his hair, and he has a giant, multicolored water gun hung over his shoulder.  He’s just a few feet short of a golf cart, where it becomes clear that several guys are wildly signaling for him to get in.

Harry comes to a stop as well, setting those big, clueless eyes on Louis.

“You go here…?” he asks, his voice hushed, the boy almost appearing to be in awe as they stare at each other.

Before Louis can even reply, one of the boys is viciously pulling Harry into the golf cart, yelling something about how they’re going to get in trouble if they don’t leave.

Of course.  Of _fucking_ course Harry had participated in this.

Surprisingly, once Louis’ sat outside one of the school buildings, low on the stairs and making use of one of the designated smoking areas on campus, he _isn’t_ calmed down in the least bit.

He’d put so much fucking _time_ into this fundraiser today, and it’s all gone to bullshit because of delinquents who aren’t familiar with the concept of common sense.  And of course they’re not going to face the consequences for it—it’s basic knowledge among the student body that these idiot boys never face punishment for _anything_ , probably because most of them are valued members of the football team.

He continues to run tense fingers through his hair as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, feeling as though he’s on the brink of completely breaking down.

Why should he even put effort into anything if it’s all going to end up fruitless in the end?  This fundraiser, planning for his future, _life_ —maybe he should just cruise through it and not give a fuck about _anything_ anymore, since clearly, giving a fuck is getting him nowhere.

Louis immediately lights another cigarette once he finishes his first one, and he spends a substantial amount of time sitting out there by himself, nothing but his panicked thoughts and the bitter scent of the smoke to accompany him.

Louis’ head is down when he hears a few chuckles from above him, along with light footsteps as though people are walking near.

When he picks his head up and finds that it’s Harry, along with two guys Louis doesn’t know nor wants to know, his rage (that had actually been _just_ starting to simmer) comes back to life.

It seems Harry doesn’t see Louis at first as he slaps one of his friends on the chest and laughs to the point of wheezing, but when he does, he stops whatever conversation they’d been having altogether.

“Hey,” Harry says, stopping in his tracks, which prompts the boys next to him to do the same.

Louis doesn’t reply and instead takes another drag of his cigarette, thinking that maybe if he acts like the boy doesn’t exist, it might start to be true.

That proves itself to be a failed attempt once Harry steps towards him as he speaks to his friends.  “Guys, this is my coworker,” the boy says, stopping in front of him.  “Louis.”

It’s when Louis finally looks at all of them properly that he realizes he knows one of them—the blond one in particular.  He looks a bit different today, however, because his blond hair has a bright, orange-colored tint to it, as though he’d applied temporary dye to it just last night. 

“ _Hey,_ ” Niall says, perking up as he points at Louis.  “I smoked with you before!”

Louis sits up just a bit, an air of hopefulness in his voice as he scratches at his knee.  “Did you do that for the fundraiser?” Louis asks quietly, gesturing up at his hair.

“Oh.  Nah,” Niall replies, scratching behind his ear as he looks somewhere else for a moment.  “This is on my bucket list.  I was one of those who trashed your shit.”

Louis deflates once again, resting his head on his fist and biting his tongue.

“ _But_ ,” Harry adds, cupping the back of Niall’s neck pointedly as he glares at the boy.  “Just like _me_ , he’s sorry about it.  Isn’t that right, Niall?”

Niall puts both of his hands up in defense as he speaks.  “I mean, we could’ve _sworn_ you guys were getting ready to do a 5k run.  But when we realized that _wasn’t_ the case, it was kinda…too late.”

“So you thought hosing down a marathon would’ve been appropriate,” Louis replies, his tone monotonous.

“Thought it would be fun,” Niall replies, now grinning.  “It would get you guys in the running mood.”

“Fuck you,” Louis replies, before bringing the cig back up to his mouth and ignoring Niall’s slight intake of breath.

The other friend that Louis has yet to acknowledge suddenly steps up, Louis’ boredly blinking eyes taking notice of how he’s wearing particularly loose cargo pants and brown sandals.  The guy crouches down to Louis’ level, bringing himself uncomfortably close as he sets a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Listen,” he says, his voice low and his brown eyes looking nowhere but Louis’.  “I know you’re angry about what happened, but don’t let it consume your entire being,” he starts, Louis now staring at this stranger as though he’s gone mad.  “I know we don’t know each other, but if you need a hug, I’ve got one for you bro.”  He opens his arms, lazy eyes continuing to remain on Louis as Louis contemplates ripping all of their heads off of their shoulders, one by one.

Instead of _acting_ on this impulse, however, Louis shoves himself up from where he’s sitting, stomping his cigarette butt out on the ground and possessing a growing desire to be somewhere fucking _else_.

He gets stopped by a gentle hand to his arm before he can get away, and Louis turns around with shallow breaths and flared nostrils, meeting eyes with Harry.

“ _What_?” he snaps, shoving the boy’s grip off of him.

Harry’s mouth remains open for a moment as he becomes thrown by Louis’ hostility, bringing his hand down to his side.

“I just…I really _am_ sorry—“

“Shove it up your ass, you fucking airhead,” Louis replies harshly.  “Leave me the fuck alone.”

It seems that Harry finally gets the point, because when Louis turns around in order to continue walking away, the boy doesn’t make any more attempts at following him.

Louis finds another area behind the building that’s more secluded by the eyes of the public and provides him a moment to collect his thoughts and drown in his own turmoil.  Even though he has an overwhelming desire to, he doesn’t light another cigarette.  Instead, he focuses on steadying his breathing as he sits with his back against the brick wall, the grass underneath him extending for just a few feet before it turns into the sidewalk

It doesn’t even take him ten minutes to acknowledge the fact that maybe…he was a bit harsh toward Harry.

He’s just _angry_ , both at the world and at himself.  Most of it has to do with the underlying knowledge that he still hasn’t gotten any letter in the mail, and he’s letting out his frustration on anyone that dares to challenge him.  He knows they still raised a ton of money today and everyone still ended up having fun, but he wants people to be angry.  He’s upset, anxious, and stressed, and he wants everyone to feel the same way he does.

If he gets a chance, he _guesses_ he’ll apologize to Harry.  The boy is a pain in the ass, but it’s obvious he’s trying his best at life.

It seems Louis doesn’t have to wait until the next time he sees Harry to apologize to him, because the boy ends up rolling into view.  Literally.

He comes from out of nowhere, he’s standing on _Louis’_ skateboard (he’d completely forgotten about that thing), and he slowly rolls to a stop in front of Louis, his lips pulled to the side in a crooked grin, complete with one dimple in his right cheek.

“You forgot something on the front lawn,” Harry says.

Louis rubs his palms down his face, subtly hiding the fact that he grins just a bit (for _only_ half a second).  “Please, get off of my skateboard.”

Harry disregards his words, instead steering in order to turn around on the sidewalk and continue rolling back and forth in front of Louis.

“You know I know how to ride a skateboard too, right?” he asks.

Louis rests both of his fists underneath his chin as his eyes follow him.  “I can see that, yeah.”

“I can even do tricks,” Harry replies, continuing to grin as he looks at Louis.  “I bet you can’t do tricks.”

Louis rolls his eyes as he shakes his head.  “I never said I was Tony Hawk.  And I’d _love_ to see you do some of those tricks, since you can hardly even balance on your own two feet.”

“You’re gonna eat your words,” Harry says.  He proceeds to do a fairly well-executed heel flip, which is one of the basic moves that pretty much everyone who owns a skateboard knows how to do.  Still, however, Louis finds himself impressed.

“Okay,” Louis says, clasping his hands together.  “You’ve successfully proven me wrong for once.”

“For once?” Harry asks with laughter, continuing to roll around on the skateboard and perform heel flips.  “Dude I’ve proved you wrong, like, three times by now.”

“Three?” Louis asks.  “I’d say two at _most_.”  Because yes, Louis had claimed Ted was _never_ going to change his mind about music in the bookstore, and Harry had ended up proving him wrong in the blink of an eye.

“Nope.  Three,” Harry replies.  “Because right now, you probably think I’m a frat boy.”

Louis knits his eyebrows together as he blinks at Harry, his face showing just how lost he is.  “You’re not?”

“Nah,” Harry replies, Louis beginning to grow dizzy as the boy continues to coast back and forth in front of him.  “I’m just super tight with them.  They’re cool guys, really.”

“Clearly I beg to differ,” Louis replies with raised eyebrows.  “Now if you could kindly get off of my skateboard, that would be great.  I have things to do.”

“Why are you always _rushing_?” Harry asks, the glide of the skateboard going at a slower pace as he kicks off of the ground more gently.  “Every time I see you on this thing, you’re rushing.  Slow down, dude.  _Relax_.”

Louis shakes his head at Harry, his fingers splayed over his lips as he fights the urge to crack even a hint of a smile.  It’s just that Harry’s so annoying and unbearable and obnoxious almost to the point where it’s…charming.  And no, Louis doesn’t understand this paradox even one bit.

“Check this out,” Harry says, before attempting to do what looks like a frontside flip.

Louis will never know for _sure_ though, because it ends horribly, Harry falling straight on his side and losing total control of the skateboard as the poor thing goes tumbling into the grass near Louis.

Louis’ not even completely aware of the fact that he’s now full-on laughing, lightly and wholeheartedly, as Harry grins through the pain, just like Louis would expect him to.

“Haven’t done that move in years, so I don’t really know why I did it so confidently,” Harry says, rubbing at his shoulder that had taken a lot of the fall.  He becomes aware of the fact that Louis’ laughing after a few seconds, and he pauses for a moment, staring at the boy delightedly as his grin grows even wider.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” Louis says as he gets up to his feet, moving in order to grab his skateboard up off of the ground.  “I have to go, but I wish you luck on getting through the rest of your day without breaking a bone.”  He holds a hand out toward Harry once he has his skateboard tucked under his arm.

Harry grabs onto his forearm as he pulls himself up to his feet.  “There you go rushing again, always running off somewhere.   Can’t even properly look at you.” 

“Dude, I would love to, like, chill out and enjoy the breeze through my shampoo commercial hair,” Louis begins, adding a low, mocking drawl to his voice for effect as Harry continues to gently grip his forearm.  “But I have actual _responsibilities_ to tend to.  Like deal with this _mess_ that’s probably still sitting out on the university lawn, that—oh yeah, _you_ contributed to.”  With a nod of his head, he pulls away from Harry, waving over his shoulder as he begins to walk away.  “Bye.”

Harry rushes in order to get in front of him, causing Louis to come to a hesitant stop.

“But…you _do_ forgive me, right?” Harry asks, hopeful as he touches his shoulder.  “Again, I’m _really_ sorry.  I thought—we _all_ thought it was harmless.  I didn’t know it would make you this mad—or that you were even _a part_ of it—or that you even _went_ here, and—“

Louis shushes him by bringing pinched fingers towards Harry’s face, within inches of his mouth, and it takes the boy a few seconds to get the hint.

“Sure.  I forgive you,” he says.

“And I forgive you for calling me an airhead,” Harry replies, both his smile and his bright eyes displaying satisfaction at this exchange.

“I didn’t apologize,” Louis says, prompting Harry’s face to go blank as he blinks at him for a few moments. 

Louis continues speaking before the boy’s face can get any closer to resembling a discouraged puppy.

“But I _am_ sorry,” Louis says gently.  “I didn’t mean it.”

There’s a nice moment shared between them where they remain silent, and for once, Louis’ can’t remember that _thing_ he’s supposed to be stressed about right now.

Harry spreads his arms wide, stepping toward Louis.  “C’mere—“

“No,” Louis replies bluntly, shaking his head before side-stepping Harry and walking back towards where he knows he should be.

He _refuses_ to turn back around for anything, even though the sound of Harry chuckling from many feet behind gives him a slight urge to.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

“Please, make it stop,” Louis huffs, briefly closing his eyes as he’s in the midst of organizing bookshelves.

Harry’s at work, it’s almost ten p.m. (closing time), he’s pumped full of energy from having an awesome day, and he’s just turned the music up on his phone to its highest volume, causing the heavy bass of “Between the Sheets” by The Isley Brothers to vibrate throughout the air.

“C’mon, it’s late out,” Harry replies, approaching the boy with slow, swaying movements of his hips as Louis rolls his eyes at him.  “ _Perfect_ for this kind of music.”

Louis shakes his head as he continues his task of pulling certain books out of the bookshelves and moving them to where they’re supposed to be.

It’s five minutes before the bookstore is supposed to close, which is usually the point where customers stop coming in, so Harry figures he might as well take advantage of the fact that he can freely throw a little party right before they leave.

Just as Harry’d expected, there _have_ been more customers since the place has been brought to life by more fulfilling music, which explains why Louis is actually putting in effort to reorganize the bookshelves.

“Hey, can you turn that off?” Harry hears Bobby ask from where he’s got his head rested against the register, but Harry’s too absorbed in the music to care as he continues to close his eyes and sway around lazily, loose hands waving in the air.

“Nope,” Harry replies, grinning thoroughly.

Harry continues his impromptu R&B jam session as the other boys continue to be uptight and interfere with his carefree aura.  Harry will get them to loosen up one day.  How tense they are definitely can’t be healthy.

“Hey.  Michael Jackson,” he hears Louis say, causing him to pause the snap of his fingers and open his eyes to find the boy standing next to him, a pile of books in his arms.  “How about gyrating a little less and actually _helping_ me put these up?  I’m trying to go _home_.”

Harry doesn’t even get to reply before half of the books are being poured into his arms, and Louis is making his way elsewhere.  Harry’s eyes follow him until he turns into one of the aisles and disappears.

At the beginning of their friendship, there would’ve been no doubt in Harry’s mind that the boy was being hostile about the things he says to Harry, but now, it seems as though the boy _tries_ to be hostile…and it just doesn’t work.  Harry can see right through it, and it’s becoming quite clear these days that behind every harsh phrase or glare the boy throws his way, there’s a hidden amount of admiration.

A tiny grin creeps onto Harry’s lips before he bites it back with his teeth, and he proceeds to do as Louis had told him, finding the designated areas for the books and sliding them exactly where they belong.

“How long are you guys gonna take?” Bobby practically yells from the counter.  “I’m bored and ready to _go_.”

“How about we make things more festive around here?” Harry asks, also having to be loud enough because of both the music _and_ the fact that all three of them are spread out amongst the entire area of the bookstore.  Harry peeks around the aisle he’s in, in search of anybody to make eye contact with, and catching sight of Louis as he rounds the corner of one of the shelves.

The song comes to an end, and the music takes a brief pause in preparation for shuffling to the next song.

“We should turn off the _lights_ ,” Harry whispers, although he still manages to be quite loud.  He knows he sounds like an immature child, which is what probably causes Louis to roll his eyes ( _admirably_ ) as he holds a small cardboard box of books in his arms.

“And why would we do _that_?” Louis asks, sitting down on one of the retro sofas and sorting through the contents of the box.

“I mean, it’s nighttime, we’re about to get out of here anyway,” Harry says.  “And listening to music is so much funner when the lights are off.”

Even with the substantial amount of distance between them, Harry can see Louis’ lips spread into a grin—just a _little_ —before he suppresses it, going back to staying focused on the task at hand.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” is what he says.

“If we turn off the lights I’m falling asleep right away, just to let you guys know,” Harry hears Bobby say from the front.

Harry gestures in the boy’s general direction as he laughs, his hands still full of books that he hasn’t put up.  “I _love_ this guy!”

Harry shoves the remainder of the books he’s yet to put up into a random shelf, before starting toward the direction he believes the light switches to be in.

“So I’m turning off the lights, right?” Harry asks, just for confirmation.

“No one ever agreed to that,” he hears Louis reply.

Harry disregards him as he finally finds the numerous switches to the lights in the bookstore, all five of them lined up next to each other against the back wall.

He reaches out a hand and flicks one of them off, causing the bookstore to go partially dim—it’s hardly even noticeable.

“This good?” Harry asks, raising his voice and waiting for the boy’s answer.

It comes after a while, which Harry assumes is because he’s finally gotten the boy to change his mind.  “Sure.”

So Harry flicks another one off, and the place gets even dimmer.  “What about this?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Louis replies monotonously, as though Harry’s a child that’s pestering him.

Harry turns off the rest of them, leaving the bookstore completely dark as another song that’s come on shuffle continues to play throughout the place.  Harry looks around in satisfaction, because this is definitely much cooler than before.

“Harry, I can’t even see anything I’m doing.”

“Fine,” Harry says with a sigh, flicking back on one of the lights and finally moving away from the set of light switches.

He comes back over to where Louis is still sat and sorting out the books, and he sits in the comfy chair across from him.

“Compromise,” he says with a grin.

Louis shakes his head as he continues what he’s doing, but it doesn’t take long for him to move his gaze up to Harry with unmoving eyes, as though he’s noticed something.

“Do you need more books to put up?” he asks.

“Ermm…” Harry starts, his eyes big as he tries to find a way to get out of doing more work in such little time.  At seemingly the perfect moment, The Electric Slide comes on shuffle, bringing Harry to immediately spring up from his seat with excitement.

“I _love_ this song,” he says, already getting right into the steps of routine.

“You are _useless_ ,” Louis says, getting up to his feet once he has all the books sorted within the box.  “ _Both_ of you!”

He goes to continue putting them in their labeled shelves, Harry remaining soothed and completely in his element because of the low lights and the funky music.

“I’m pretty sure Ted wouldn’t care if you didn’t finish all of those before we left,” Harry says, not knowing where Louis is anymore, but speaking anyway.

“I’m aware of that,” he hears the boy reply.

Harry pauses his dancing, going over to where he heard the boy’s voice and finding him in one of the near aisles, the cardboard box at his feet as he slides books into their designated areas.

“Then why are you still doing it?” Harry asks, scrunching his face up just a bit as he crosses his arms and leans his side against the shelf.

“Because I’m a perfectionist, Harry,” Louis replies, not even taking a pause as he continues to shove books into their spots vigorously.  “I can’t leave things messy and I most _certainly_ can’t leave things undone.”

“But…” Harry starts, frowning just a little as he pauses.  “Dancing is so much funner.”

“Not when I have duties.”

Harry can’t hold back the tiny giggle that takes a few seconds to burst out from between his lips.  “You said—“

“I swear, if you finish that sentence, I will never talk to you again,” Louis interrupts sternly, putting a hand up in Harry’s direction, even though Harry knows he clearly wants to smile.

“You know that’s not true,” Harry says, taking a few steps closer to the boy.  “You won’t even last a _day_ without my charisma and great sense of humor.”

“Sure,” Louis replies, his hands continuing to move at a fast pace.

Harry pauses for a moment, his foot tapping lightly to the continuing music as he watches the boy work himself hard for no reason.

“You should dance with me,” Harry says.

“Hard pass,” Louis replies almost instantly, and a part inside of Harry (that he didn’t even know he had) withers. 

“I wanna see you do the electric slide,” Harry says.

Louis sighs as he continues to work, the contents of his box almost empty as he moves down the aisle.  “If one of your life goals is to see me dance, you might not wanna hold your breath.”

“We’ll see,” Harry replies, before leaning down in order to get the rest of the books out of the box, now in a better mood to put them up.

Once Harry’s sliding books into the shelves just a few feet down from Louis, the boy glances at him out of the corner of his eye for just a moment as he pauses.

“Thanks,” he practically whispers.  Harry hears it very clearly, however, because he’s interested in what most of the boy has to say and doesn’t ever want to miss it.

“Welcome,” Harry replies, flashing him a grin as he places another book on the shelf.

Eventually, they finally _do_ close up, and Harry’s slipping on his jacket as he pushes out of the entrance, the jingle from the bell over the door causing him to smile as it often does.

Harry stands near the entrance, watching both boys go their separate ways, Bobby yawning into his fist and calling it a night, and Louis swimming in his bomber jacket and clutching his skateboard under his arm instead of riding it.

Harry walks up to Louis (adding just a _little_ skip to his step in order to catch up) as he slides his hands into his pockets. 

“Where you headed to?” he asks gently, the boy looking up in slight surprise, as though he hadn’t known the boy would be next to him.

“My apartment,” Louis replies.  “I live near Park Avenue.”

Harry scratches at his nose before replying.  “I don’t live too far from there.”

“’Course you don’t,” Louis replies matter-of-factly.

Harry gently nudges the boy with his shoulder as he walks, his lips spreading into a grin.  “ _Hey._ We’re like, route buddies and we didn’t even know it.”

“ _Please_ no,” Louis mutters as he looks down at his feet.

“It’s actually very unsafe to walk alone this late at night.  Research shows it,” Harry says.  “So it makes sense that we should walk together every night that we get off work at the same time.”

Louis narrows his eyes as he looks up at the boy, although a grin pokes at his shaky lips that causes Harry to feel just a touch nicer.  Louis shakes his head with a chuckle before continuing to walk, kicking his feet against the sidewalk lazily.  “Sometimes I drive, though.  When my legs are too tired.”

“I never drive.  I don’t have a car,” Harry replies.  “I usually walk, catch a ride, or take the bus in order to transport myself places.”

Louis laughs a bit as he takes leisure steps.  “Guess that’s why you’ve gotten a job?”

“Nah,” Harry replies with a shake of his head.  “I just wanted to get my mum a nice birthday present, is all.”

Louis pauses his walking, blinking at Harry for a moment as he raises his eyebrows.  “You’re working to save up for a _birthday present_?”

Harry nods, not understanding why this is such a perplexing idea for Louis to grasp.  “I want to give her something great, you know?  I might even give _her_ a car.”

Because there’s no doubt she’ll be beyond pissed once he doesn’t get accepted for the internship.  This is his way of trying to make things right before they go wrong—“wrong”, being his mother not speaking to him anymore and banning him from ever coming home due to being a disgrace.  Obviously, that doesn’t sound too desirable, so Harry’d rather take precautions in order to cheer her up.

“That’s, uh…” Louis starts, pursing his lips as he seemingly thinks of what to say.  “That’s sweet.”

“And expensive,” Harry adds, taking notice of Louis coming to a stop and sitting down against the edge of the sidewalk.

“Today’s definitely one of the days I should’ve driven,” Louis says with a sigh, watching Harry as the boy sits down beside him.  “I’m already fatigued.”

Harry laughs as he rests his elbow on his knee.  “That’s because you worked yourself _way_ too hard.”

“That’s what you’re _supposed_ to do at work,” Louis replies, his voice quiet as he messes with his skateboard out on the road in front of him, rolling it back and forth with his right foot.

“That’s a pretty unhealthy way of thinking,” Harry says, fiddling with the denim fabric over his knee and seriously wondering who taught Louis these ridiculous values.  It’s so natural to the boy—it’s almost as though it’d been ingrained into him all throughout life that wearing himself out and holding himself to an incredibly high standard was normal.

They sit in silence for a while as the presence of the night causes the streets to be mostly empty.  There’s a mild chill due to the absence of the sun, but it’s nothing too unbearable.

“It’s kinda weird that you have a skateboard,” Harry comments at some point, when it seems as though Louis’ almost dosing off, the side of the boy’s head resting against his knees.

“Why’s that?” Louis asks, eyes lidded and sleepy.

“It, like… _completely_ contradicts the overwrought aura you wear every day,” Harry explains, talking slowly as he chooses his words.  “It gives the outside world a really brief, false perception of you and who you are as a person.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis replies, shaking his head with a small huff of laughter.

Harry shakes his head also as he reaches out for the skateboard, rolling it in front of himself and away from Louis as he messes with it.  “It’s really interesting though.  Total juxtaposition.”

“Someday I’m gonna understand you, I swear,” Louis replies with one last shake of his head, and Harry titters in response.

“Where’d you get it?”

“My sister,” Louis replies, lifting his head up as he switches to resting his cheek against his fist.  “A long time ago, actually.  She’s always had a wide variety of cool interests.”

Harry’s eyes brighten to a great extent, because he didn’t know Louis had a sister, and now he’s curious about a lot of things, such as their dynamic, what she’s like, how it was growing up, all of it.

“She said it was gonna come in handy since I’m always moving,” Louis continues.  “She was _very_ right.  She’s a year younger than me but she’s always been the sharper one.”

“Obviously,” Harry replies.  “So she didn’t need it anymore?”

“She doesn’t really have time for things like skateboarding, or even enjoying time to herself anymore since she’s gotten swept off of her feet by another one of the guys she claims is the ‘love of her life’,” Louis explains.

Harry nudges Louis softly with his elbow, grinning from ear to ear.  He can’t help how excited he gets over _other_ people’s relationships.  “She’s doing the datie-datie thing?”

“Yes, she’s doing the datie-datie thing,” Louis replies, rubbing at his eye as he laughs tiredly.  “She tends to drop and forget about everything else when that happens.”

“So…” Harry begins, placing his foot upon the skateboard and rolling it back and forth, just as Louis had been doing earlier.  “She knows how to ride a skateboard, she’s charitable towards her brother, and she gives whoever she’s dating one hundred percent.  Sounds like a wonderful girl to me.”

Louis stares at Harry for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek.  “You’re not interested in her, are you?” he asks incredulously.

Harry pulls his lips tight as he feels that _certain_ uncomfortable, stretching feeling in his gut that comes about every time _it_ happens.  “Nope.”

Louis laughs a bit as he leans down in order to mess with his dangling shoelace.  “I really didn’t take you for the type to steal girls from their boyfriends.”

Harry shuts his mouth even tighter, one of his dimples beginning to deepen as he fights the urge to say anything related to the topic.

It’s not a surprise that what _actually_ comes out of his mouth is one of his notorious, blunt attempts at changing the subject.

“Ligers,” Harry says.  “Have you ever heard of them?”

Louis stares at him with puzzlement written across every single one of his facial features.

“Half male lion, half female tiger,” Harry continues.

“That’s terrifying,” Louis replies, which causes Harry to grin with satisfaction at the fact that the boy is indulging in him.

“ _And_ , a lot of them exist because of artificial cross-breeding,” Harry adds, lifting a finger.  “It’s horrible, what they do to those animals.  Should be illegal.”

“If you ever start a petition to put a stop to it, I’m with you all the way,” Louis says, extending a fist out toward Harry in support.  Harry bumps his fist against Louis’ after a while, chuckling with amusement at this whole exchange.

“You working tomorrow night?” Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head as he rests back on the palms of his hands.  “I don’t work evenings on the weekends if you haven’t noticed.  That’s when I volunteer at the daycare center.”

Louis leans in just a hint, his interest clearly peaked as he raises an eyebrow at Harry.  “You volunteer at a daycare center?”

Harry nods proudly.  “Yep.  It’s lots of fun and the kids are amazing.”

Louis doesn’t hold back in smiling as he nods at Harry.  “That explains a lot.”

Harry shifts as he moves to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, his fingers in search of his blue gel pen.  He brings it out in front of him once he gets a hold of it, looking at Louis pointedly as he speaks.  “It’s actually where I got my lucky pen from.  This awesome kid named Ayden gave it to me because he said I was his favorite volunteer.  Whenever I have it on me, I don’t have a bad day.”

It’s true, and it’s the reason why Harry literally hasn’t experienced a bad day in months.

Louis’ eyes appear to be growing larger by the second as he listens to Harry.  “Oh.  I didn’t know,” Louis replies, his voice almost at a whisper.  “That’s really cool.”

“It’s _also_ one of the reasons why I always try to steer my friends away from smoking,” Harry continues, his voice quiet as well.  “Ayden developed asthma from his parents’ secondhand smoke, and now he has to carry around an inhaler.  He’s too young and innocent to have to deal with the consequences of that, you know?” Harry asks, now partly talking to himself as he knits his eyebrows in irritation.  “And he’s _such_ a nice kid.”

They’re quiet for a moment, Harry staring ahead as he continues to think about it and Louis staring at the profile of his face from where he sits beside him.  For an odd reason, Harry feels like he can talk about anything.  _Everything_ even.  He wants to talk about everything running through his mind, because he knows Louis will listen, even if he probably thinks he’s annoying. 

“That’s so nice of you, Harry,” Louis suddenly says, hugging his arms around his knees.  “Really.  It’s refreshing to know.”

Harry’s face softens from the slight concentration it’d been in prior to Louis’ words, his lips tilting upward just a hint on one side.  “Thanks,” he says, burying his face in his jacket just a little in order to mutter his next few words.  “You can always come with me anytime you want.  You know, get the experience.”

Louis nods slightly as his thumbs brush at the fabric of his jeans.  “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Harry buries the bottom half of his face deeper into his jacket, desiring an escape for his need to smile widely.

Louis rubs his hands together as he sits up all the way.  “Well, I guess I should actually get home, so I can rest on my bed instead of the hard surface of a concrete sidewalk,” the boy says, pushing himself up to his feet.

Harry does the same, and he places a foot on top of Louis’ skateboard once he’s stood up. 

“Do I get to ride your skateboard until we have to go separate ways?” he asks.

“Sure, whatever,” the boy replies, shaking his head as he slips his hands into the large pockets of his jacket and begins walking.

So Harry does exactly that, riding slowly alongside Louis and cracking jokes every time the boy’s smile starts to fade away even a _little_.  It almost becomes a game—like, the one where a crowd has to work to keep a beach ball up in the air, and if it hits the ground, they lose; if Louis’ lips begin to fall from a grin, Harry just says something else funny in order to send them back into a nice, happy curve. 

The laughs of the boy as they echo throughout the night almost make the _other_ Louis, the one Harry’d initially met when he’d ran into him on the way to the post office, seem like he doesn’t even exist.  Harry’s pretty convinced he’d somehow switched universes between then and now, because this soft-chuckling, lighthearted Louis is definitely not the same person as the grimace-wearing, snappy one Harry’d first came in contact with.

Harry knows when they’re approaching the boy’s apartment building, because Louis starts to slow down and dig into his pockets for his keys.

“I know you probably _hate_ the fact that we’re now gonna be route buddies every single day that we get off at the same time,” Harry starts, rolling to a stop and placing one foot on the ground as he pauses next to Louis.  “But you’re gonna have to suffer through it for the remainder of the few weeks I’ll be working with you.”

“So that’s it, huh?” Louis asks, tossing his keys in the air and catching them.  “I get no say in this?”

Harry shakes his head as he reaches a hand out toward Louis.  “Nope.  I’ll be out of your hair eventually, though.”

“I look forward to that,” Louis replies, clasping the boy’s hand in goodbye before swiping his skateboard up off of the ground and starting towards the steps of his apartment complex.

Harry watches him for just a few seconds as the nearest streetlight illuminates unsteadily, a dog howls in the distance, and his palms feel just a little more slippery than usual.

The journey to where Harry lives is a fair distance further past the direction in which Louis lives.  There _is_ a slightly faster route that could’ve been taken if he hadn’t followed Louis all the way home, but he doesn’t see the harm in taking just a little longer to get to his apartment.  He needs the exercise anyway.

Once he’s reached his flat and has closed the front door behind himself, he’s submerged in complete darkness.

There are no visible lights on as he walks through the dark flat, which instantly causes him to feel just as tired as Louis had been.

He sits against the nearest armrest of the living room couch, staring blankly at nothing in particular and hearing the low buzz of the air conditioner, as well as his own breathing.

Harry rubs a hand down the back of his neck as he looks down at the carpet, kicking his feet gently against the ground as he becomes mildly restless.

He opens his mouth long before he speaks, already growing nervous, even though he’s not talking to any real _person_.

“I…I just realized I, um…I don’t have your number, and—“ Harry starts, before cutting himself off with a smack of his teeth and a shake of his head.  “That’s not casual enough,” he mutters as he looks down at his feet.

He tries again, lifting a meaningless hand in the air as he speaks.  “It’d be cool to have your number, you know, in case I ever need help with…” he starts, exhaling as he fiddles with his fingers and thinks of what to say.  “…homework.”

He brings a palm up to his forehead, smacking it just a little too hard as he bites down on his bottom lip.

One more time.  He will try _one_ more time.  There _has_ to be a way to do this casually.

“You know…” Harry starts, speaking slowly as he looks ahead of him.  “It’s important for coworkers to have each other’s—“

“Who are you talking to?”

Harry turns his head in the direction of the voice to find the shadow of Zayn, peeking out of the hallway as the light coming from his bedroom shines faintly behind him.  Even in the darkness, two things are clear; he has no shirt on, and he’s holding Canopy in his hands as he tilts his head at Harry.

“Nobody,” Harry answers, sitting up.

“You were saying things,” the boy replies, moving his hand around to allow Canopy to roam freely across it.

They stare at each other for a few moments, Harry in a state of cluelessness and slight embarrassment, and Zayn in a state of nosiness and high curiosity.

“Come,” Zayn says, turning around and walking back in the direction of his room.

Harry continues to sit there for a few quiet seconds, before pushing himself off of the couch in order to follow him. 

He closes the boy’s door behind him once he finally enters, and upon turning around, he’s met with the normal sight of Zayn sitting in his usual Papasan chair, the only difference being that it’s pulled toward the back of the room, closer to Canopy’s terrarium.

He’s facing Harry and staring the boy down almost uncomfortably as Canopy now rests on his shoulder.

“Sit,” Zayn says, pointing at the edge of his bed.

Harry does so hesitantly, already dreading whatever the boy’s going to try to enlighten him about.

“What’s up, man?” Zayn asks, his tone of voice way too serious and concerned for the situation.

Harry shakes his head as he forces out a light laugh.  “ _Nothing_.  I just wanna go to bed.”

“Why were you asking the living room wall for its number?” Zayn asks, reaching a thumb up to his shoulder in order to pet at Canopy for a moment.  The lizard's tongue darts out in response and Harry ignores the tiny twitch in his stomach.

“I…” Harry starts, pressing his knuckles against the bed sheets underneath him as he draws his brows together.  “I dunno, I was just—“

“Whose number do you want?” Zayn asks, shifting forward in order to rest his elbows against his knees.

Harry throws his back against the bed, looking up at the large map of star constellations that spans Zayn’s ceiling and wishing this conversation would end soon.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry replies with a sigh.  “It’s not that serious.”

“Harry, if you act like your emotions don’t matter, you’re never gonna reach fulfillment as a human being—“

“Oh my _God_ ,” Harry groans, sliding his hands down his face.

“There’s no reason to be afraid of liking someone,” Zayn continues, despite Harry’s clear distress.  “Allow yourself to _feel_.”

Harry sits up, fixing hard eyes on Zayn as though the boy is talking complete gibberish (because he is).  “What?  I don’t _like_ anyone.”

“Sure you don’t,” Zayn replies, allowing Canopy to crawl off of his shoulder and back into his right hand.  “Just let it out, Harry.  You’ll never be free until you do.”

Harry presses his tongue against his teeth with exhaustion.  “Are you suggesting I’m not a free spirit?”

“If you continue to keep this inside,” Zayn says.  “If you withhold your emotions because of fear, you aren’t.”

And…how _dare_ he?  Zayn should know by now that Harry is the free-est of them all; he does what he wants, he says what he wants, and he sure as hell _feels_ what he wants.  How dare.

“It’s just…” Harry starts, Zayn appearing satisfied now that the boy’s about to open up just a little.  “There’s this guy and I want his number.  That’s all.”

Zayn nods slowly, his lips pulled to the side in a grin as Harry bites on one of his nails and tries to find _anywhere_ else to look.

“So, is his _number_ a metaphor for—“

“I’m going to bed,” Harry says matter-of-factly as he gets up from Zayn’s mattress in order to do exactly that. 

Zayn doesn’t chase after him, instead offering him some last words.  “Goodnight, lovebird.”

Harry closes the boy’s door and starts in the direction of his own room with a huff.

 

~*~

 

Harry’s ankle shakes repeatedly as it remains crossed over his thigh.

It seems as though this class is truly never-ending.

The sounds of just about every student tapping at their laptop keyboards as they struggle to take hurried notes causes Harry to remember that—oh yeah, he should probably be taking notes as well.

He attempts to tune back into the lecture as he stops shaking his ankle impatiently, and he begins to succeed in doing so for the next few minutes. 

He eventually goes back to spacing out and shaking his ankle with every second that the clock ticks.

He’s usually a very attentive and driven student, honestly—it’s just that today’s Friday, and the high point of the day is going to be _after_ classes, when he gets to go and volunteer at the daycare center. 

Once their professor finally announces that they can leave, Harry’s out of his seat pretty much in the time it takes someone to snap.

He’s not so fast in remembering the fact that he’s wearing _roller skates_ however.

He has to apologize to a girl that he crashes into fairly hard due to losing his balance for a moment, but he quickly collects himself and gets into the rhythm of the skates.

He really only skates around on special occasions, when he’s feeling _especially_ happy, and today happens to be one of those days.  He’d woken up, seen the sun peeking in through the blinds, and just decided today was going to be one of those days.

His book bag is dangling off of his right shoulder as he glides through campus, intent to reach the station for the shuttle bus in time.  He’s not _late_ though, so he spends a lot of time looping around groups of people and making “figure eights”.

Harry doesn’t expect to brush past Louis in the process of his festive journey through the courtyard, but he does so unexpectedly, and luckily, he’s not going fast enough to knock the boy into a concussion.

The boy hadn’t seen Harry coming his way, but Harry had seen _him_ at the last second, so he doesn’t hesitate to grab the boy by the shoulders, balancing himself as the boy looks at him with faint surprise.

“What about today?” Harry asks, slightly out of breath as he continues to hold Louis by the shoulders.

Louis stares at him for a few seconds, puzzlement, along with a hint of amusement showing on his face because— _wow_ , Harry’d forgotten that the boy wasn’t in on the conversation he’d already started within his head.

 “I mean—“ Harry starts, shaking his head at himself.  “You can shadow me at the daycare center today, if you’d like.”

Louis nods his head slowly as he starts to understand, but then his face falls slightly as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“I can’t today, sorry,” he says.

Harry lowers both of his hands, feeling quite dejected after having approached him so enthusiastically.

“Okay then,” Harry replies, beginning to roll backwards as he folds his hands over one another.  “I guess I’ll—“

“Does tomorrow work?” Louis asks.  “I won’t be busy then.”

Harry’s once again revived, and his dimples come out of hiding as he flashes two thumbs up to Louis.  “Perfect.”

Louis reaches in one of the side pockets of his backpack as he steps toward Harry.  Harry’s not able to properly react before the boy is grabbing one of his hands and bringing a permanent marker to the skin of his palm.

“Here.  Send me the details, alright?” Louis says once he’s finished writing his number.  He then continues in the direction he’d been initially going, casually and without another word.

Harry’s not even aware of the fact that he’s just standing there, not having said anything to the boy as his eyes remain big and his mouth remains open. 

He brings his hand up to his face, and.  Those are numbers.  Ten of them, to be exact.

He nods his head slowly as he continues to study it.  _This_ is how he will reach Louis’ cellular device.

That wasn’t too difficult.

 

~*~

 

“ _Harry_!”

His name is heard before he can even make it through the door once he enters the daycare center.

His legs are being bombarded with the hugs of numerous six and seven year old kids, and although Harry has to struggle not to collapse onto the ground because of it, his heart is growing warmer by the second.

“More candy?” one of the girls below him, named Madeline, asks eagerly.

Harry grins, already crouching down to the ground and preparing to reach into his backpack as her toothy smile grows even wider.  “Of course—“

“You should _really_ think twice before giving them so much candy,” Sarah says, and Harry turns his head to find her across the room, in her usual spot as she sits at the tiny kids’ table and reads a magazine.  She usually volunteers with Harry, and she doesn’t try to hide the fact that she’s lacking in enthusiasm and is only here because of some kind of requirement.  She’s sort of like the “Bobby” of the daycare center.

“Why?” Harry asks, now sat down on the colorful, puzzle-decorated rug with his wide legs out in front of him.

“Because it could give them cavities,” she says, looking at him from across the room as though the answer was obvious.  “I’m pretty sure their parents don’t wanna deal with that.”

“I want cavities!” Madeline perks up, pulling at the corners of her mouth in an attempt to show Harry how eager she is, but the boy shakes his head.

“A cavity isn’t something you want, Maddie,” Harry replies.

It doesn’t take him long to decide that he’s going to take the risk of giving everyone at least _one_ piece of candy, because that’s what he’s pretty much known for around here, and he’s not sure if he’d still be everyone’s favorite if he didn’t do it.  Also, what is a child’s life without _sweets_?

He spends a lot of time sitting at the small tables and helping a bunch of the kids with their homework, which is always a fun time, because even though things like adding two plus two, identifying an adjective, and knowing what colors mix to make green is basic knowledge, he still feels like a genius every time he offers his aid and a child’s eyes twinkle with wonder.

Harry’s happy about volunteering today, of course he is, but he can’t help thinking about _tomorrow_.  When Louis will join him.

He can’t help that he’s more excited about that, which causes his focus to wane a little as the day goes on.  The great part about it is that Louis obviously _wants_ to come, because he’d suggested the day and given Harry his _phone number_ just so they would have confirmation about all of it.

He keeps thinking about how Louis will feel about everything, what the boy will think of the kids, what the kids will think of _him_ , and if it can even become a regular thing between them.

“ _Harry_ ,” comes a voice from behind him, accompanied by a vigorous shove against his shoulder.

Harry turns toward the voice to find Ayden, his face full of frustration and his blonde hair with bits of paint in it.

“I was _talking_ to you,” he says helplessly.

Harry fixes his two front teeth in order to bite back a grin, because yeah, he definitely hadn’t been listening.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says wholeheartedly, before turning in his chair and positioning his full attention toward the boy.  “What is it you need?”

“I was asking who you’re gonna be in the play,” he replies, the prior frustration on his face instantly gone as he now smiles.

Harry’s brows knit together a bit as he contemplates the question, because he has absolutely no idea about the existence of a play.  “The play?”

“Ms. Hartley says they’re gonna perform a play for us!” comes another one of the kids, Lily, right up behind him as she leans closely into his shoulder and practically yells his ear off.  “Says _everyone’s_ gonna be in it.  Even you guys.”

“I don’t think so,” Sarah finally speaks up, for what’s probably the first time in thirty minutes as she now scrolls through her phone and continues to sit by the table.

“You could be a _princess_ ,” Lily suggests, her red, curly hair bouncing as she skips over to Sarah with a pointed finger. 

Ayden gasps wildly as it seems an idea comes to _him_ as well, and he shakes Harry’s shoulder with excitement.  “You could be a _ninja!_ ”

He braces himself in what looks like his version of getting into “ninja position”, before piercing Harry’s arm with a quick hand.  Harry reacts to it vividly, clutching his arm as though he’s in great pain before sliding out of his chair and falling to the ground dramatically.  Every carefree giggle that escapes Ayden’s mouth only inspires Harry to add more zest to his theatrical performance as he reaches out a hand, grasping at the air as though he’s living his last moments.

Ayden makes a show of taunting him as he points down at Harry.  “You’re a _wimp_ ,” he says, as though defeating Harry has satisfied him immensely.

Harry breaks out of character as he laughs and shakes his head, and Ayden has already soared across the rug and attempted one of his ninja moves on the nearest unsuspecting kid.  It doesn’t go too well, because the kid, whose name is Francis (who’s also always been quite a sensitive one), instantly starts crying once Ayden hits his arm with a sharp hand and a “ _hi-yah_ ”.

Whatever pondering Harry had been doing concerning the sudden existence of a future play becomes postponed as he makes his way over to extinguish the cries, being reminded about the parts of this volunteer work that aren’t so joyous.

 

~*~

 

Harry’s reclined on his bed after a mid-day nap, scrolling through his phone and keeping himself entertained by looking at satisfying videos of how desserts are made.

His entertainment is interrupted, however, when a text from Louis shows up at the top of his screen.

**Louis:** _Depends.  Will there already be fruit on the island?_

Harry brings his hand up to his mouth in order to stifle a giggle, because of course the boy can’t simply answer the question of what one food he would bring if he were stranded on an island, and instead has to ask questions and bring up hypotheticals.

They’d been texting back and forth pretty much throughout the entire day, which has done a lot to keep Harry’s mood up, because he now gets filled with delight every time his phone vibrates.  The small grin maintains its place on his lips as he texts the boy back with an _i’ve never even seen u eat fruit anyway so quit being silly_

He sends the text before going back to his videos, only spending a second wondering if the boy’s waiting with his phone in his hand just like he is.

He gets a response rather quickly, his finger tapping in order to read it in the millisecond he gets the notification.

**Louis:** _I was asking so I could see if coconuts can be used to store food._

**Louis:** _And for your information I do eat fruit when I have time_

Harry’s already preparing to text him about how if he doesn’t see one article of fruit when he gets to his flat the boy will owe him ten dollars—which is another thing; they’d decided (after Harry’s kind suggestion) that Harry could just walk to his place and they could ride together, because it’d be a waste if they didn’t.  They’d decided that a long time ago—probably four hours, to be exact.  Ever since then, they’d just been texting nonsensical shit back and forth that somehow has kept Harry more than entertained throughout the day, and they even continue to do it now as Harry remains reclined on his bed awaiting all of his smug texts.

“You’re volunteering today?” Harry hears Zayn ask from his doorframe, pulling him away from his focus on Louis’ text about how long jelly would last on an island without being refrigerated.

“Yup,” Harry replies, only looking at the boy briefly as he continues to text away.

He can hear Zayn faintly tapping against the wall boredly, and Harry already knows what he’s thinking.  The boy often accompanies him sometimes when he’s found himself in the midst of an especially uneventful day and is in need of something to do.

“Can I come?” he asks.

“Sure,” Harry replies pretty automatically, even though just a pinch of something unnerves him in response to it.  He figures he should ignore that pinch anyway, because Zayn actually has a _car_ , and now Harry doesn’t have to walk all the way to the boy’s flat.  Who cares if he and Louis aren’t going to be alone?  Harry certainly doesn’t.

It’s not long before they’re actually heading out in order to get their evening going, and after Harry almost getting on his knees in order to get Zayn to let him drive (Harry _loves_ driving his car, it’s addictive in a weird way and reminds him that he has his license), Harry finds himself behind the driver’s seat, in full control of the music, and bearing a positively curved grin on his face as he sails down the street.

The only thing that’s threatened to cause a tiny rift in his elevated mood is the fact that Zayn had insisted they put the top down, even though Harry had _insisted_ that they didn’t need to because the air conditioner was on, which resulted in Zayn _insisting_ that they do it anyway, because he’s trying to use less “artificial air”.  Harry’s pretty sure there isn’t such a thing as artificial air, but he doesn’t have the strength or the mood to argue with Zayn since he’s so happy about how his day’s been going so far, so he easily allows the both of them to bear with the wind slapping their faces as the top of the car remains down.

“Wait…where’re we going?” Zayn asks at some point in the ride, sitting up as he looks at Harry confusedly.

Harry blows air out of his cheeks as he continues to lazily grip the steering wheel, attempting to find a casual way to answer the question without giving Zayn new things to analyze.

“My friend Louis is coming too,” Harry says, before biting down on his bottom lip for a moment.  “I’m just gonna pick him up.”

“Louis?” Zayn asks, reclining back against the seat as he presses the pads of his fingers together and the wind continues to work through his hair.  “That name sounds familiar.”

“That’s because I introduced you guys to him that one day,” Harry replies.  “My coworker.  Remember?”

It slowly seems to come back to Zayn as he nods his head, his eyes still heavy with concentration.  “ _Oh._ He’s that uptight bloke isn’t he?”

“ _Was,_ ” Harry replies, shifting around in his seat once he reaches a stop sign.  “But I’ve loosened him up a little.”

He obviously hadn’t thought of what his words would sound like before they came out of his mouth, and now it’s too late.  Zayn has turned to look at Harry fully, but Harry doesn’t even have to return the boy’s stare to know he’s wearing that signature smug, cheeky facial expression.

“ _Oh._   I see,” he says in probably the most suggestive tone known to man.

Harry shakes his head as he stumbles over his words through unsteady breaths.  “It’s—no, we’re…not that.  It’s not like that.”

He continues to feel Zayn’s eyes on him from the passenger seat, and he grips a tighter hand around the steering wheel as he continues to accelerate down the road.

“He’s my _coworker_ , alright?” Harry says, growing fed up even though Zayn hasn’t said anything.  It’s the knowing silence that’s getting to Harry.  “I _work_ with him.  I’m pretty sure that would be unprofessional anyway.”

“Because _you’ve_ always been one to stick to the rules,” Zayn replies, rolling his head against the seat in order to look the other way.

Harry’s grateful that the boy decides not to say anything else after that, because by the time they get to Louis’ place, Harry’s not as irritable and irrationally nervous as Zayn was making him.

As they trudge up the stairs, Harry can’t help but notice that the complex is definitely one of the quieter ones.  He can hardly hear a thing—not a neighbor blasting music, a child crying, or a couple arguing in one of the flats.  That’s probably what Louis likes, Harry figures, which only reminds him of how different they are.  Harry _needs_ noise and activity in order to feel whole.

Once they reach his door, they both find that it’s open just a crack, but Zayn argues to Harry that it’s common courtesy to knock anyway.

So Harry does, and nothing happens.  He can somewhat _hear_ things going on inside, presumably in one of the rooms, but he knocks again, just to please Zayn and his sudden random desire to adhere to guest values.

Zayn takes it in his _own_ hands to slowly push the door open, Harry furrowing his eyebrows at him in frustration.

“After two knocks, it’s okay to let yourself in if the door is open,” Zayn says with a shrug.  “Everyone knows this.”

“Shut up,” Harry mutters, following behind the boy as they enter.

It’s…weird inside. 

Or maybe it’s weird, because everything’s so _normal_. 

 _Nothing_ is out of place, not a chair, not a remote, and definitely not a dish left on the counter.  Everything inside reeks of normalcy and organization.  The most lively part about it, Harry notices as he and Zayn look around like curious monkeys, is that everything smells vaguely lemon scented.

“Dude,” Zayn says, stretching out his arms as he steps into the living room and looks around.  “Talk about lifeless.”

Harry rubs his hand down the back of his neck as he purses his lips.  “It’s kinda neat I guess…at least there’s no underwear left on the floor, like Niall does at our place.  Maybe we should—”

Zayn abruptly snaps, and quite loudly Harry might add, causing the boy to turn and look at him with incredulous eyes.

Zayn spreads his hands out a bit, as though he’s getting a feel for something as his eyes narrow slightly and he looks around the room.  “There’s…something here…something…”  Zayn starts, his voice continuing to grow lower in volume as he speaks.  “Some _one_ …someone’s in distress,” Zayn says, walking towards one of the living room walls and pressing his finger tips against it gently.

Harry rolls his eyes as he sits on the nearest coffee table, shaking his head at the boy.  “For the last time, Zayn, you don’t have a sixth sense.”

“I can feel it.  It’s in the walls,” Zayn continues, ignoring Harry.  He then turns around, his eyes surveying the house with a slow laziness.  “It’s _everywhere_.”

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” comes a loud, thunderous voice that shocks Harry so much he winces.  

Before he even gets to _process_ the words, there’s a man coming at him—coming at the both of them, actually—a wooden baseball bat in his hands as they now hastily back into the nearest wall with panicked surprise plastered across their faces.

“I know karate,” the boy says, the bat placed in perfect position over his shoulder as he continues to slowly approach them, literal fury behind his eyes.  Harry hadn’t even noticed Zayn squeezing onto his hand, the boy standing protectively in front of him and within clear reach of this wild man’s bat.

“I’ve been a third-degree black belt since I was ten,” he continues, nostrils flared as he grips the bat tighter.  “Try me.”

Harry can’t figure out why both he and Zayn are standing there in great fear _not_ saying anything.  Harry’s just never _seen_ a person like this before, and he’s conflicted on the many emotions coursing through him right now—he doesn’t know whether to be scared or impressed or jealous that he has a bat and Harry doesn’t.

Zayn’s grip eases on his hand just a little before he speaks amidst the thick, threatening tension.

“This is…” Zayn starts, taking a moment to let out a slow breath.  “So…hot.”

This seems to cause a falter in the guy’s hard, violent state as he loosens his grip on the bat just a bit, his eyebrows furrowing as it becomes clear he’s just as confused as Harry is.

“Please, excuse him,” Harry hears, the voice emerging from the hallway.  The sound of the boy’s voice instantly calms Harry, and he feels as though his heart is beating at a normal pace again.

Louis comes up behind the boy, snatching the bat out of his hands.  “I _know_ them, Liam.  You can’t just approach innocent people with a baseball bat.”

“I thought they were _intruders_ ,” the guy, who's apparently named _Liam_ , replies incredulously, snatching his bat back from Louis as his facial expression grows even more stern.

They get into a little argument about how Louis should let him know when people are coming over and how Louis doesn’t have to let him know anything and something about how it’s a part of the “established rules” and Harry can hardly focus on any of it because he’s distracted by the fact that Louis’ wearing _reading glasses_.

He doesn’t know why it throws him so much, causing a grin to pull at the corners of his lips as he watches them continue to bicker, but it does.  He didn’t know Louis wore glasses and he’s never seen them on him before, so it’s quite refreshing, standing there watching him in his most comfortable element.  His hair is also messier than usual (in a good way, somehow), as though he’d been running his hands through it constantly, and the maroon sweatshirt he has on extends well past both of his wrists. 

“C’mon,” Louis says finally, acknowledging Zayn and Harry, before turning around, back towards where he’d come from.  “I just have to finish up tidying my room, and then we can go.”

Harry hesitantly follows, subtly steering clear of touching Liam as he makes his way past the boy.

It only takes Harry two seconds to realize Zayn’s not following behind, which causes him to immediately turn back around in order to grab the boy.

“You know, I used to do a little karate _myself_ —“ is all the boy gets in before Harry pulls him away by the hoodie on his sweater.

“Leave the nice boy alone,” Harry whispers.

“What?” Zayn asks.  “I’m trying to be charismatic.”

“He literally pulled a _baseball_ bat out on…” Harry begins, but his sentence comes to an end once they enter Louis’ bedroom.

It’s certainly more lively than the rest of the house, because there are definitely some attempts at decoration, such as the bedroom theme of navy blue (the bed sheets, fuzzy rug, and chairs) and accents of gold (the lamp, clock, and mirror).  What takes Harry aback _most_ is the fact that the boy is running rampant, moving around with quick feet and organizing everything that’s slightly out of place.

“Is the queen coming, or something?” Harry asks, taking hesitant steps into his room as he looks around.

“No,” Louis replies, moving books from his desk and stuffing them into one of his drawers.  His eyes dart in Zayn’s direction for a moment before he continues what he’s doing.  “Why’s he here?”

Harry looks over at where Zayn is examining a poster on the wall, which seems to be of some movie from the eighties, it looks like.

“Oh, he wanted to come too,” Harry explains.

“Cool,” Louis says, now spritzing the surface of his desk with a spray he’d gotten from his bathroom.

Harry’s confused for many reasons right now, but he feels the most prevalent reason is the fact that Louis’ room is already _clean_.  _Why_ in the world is he cleaning it so thoroughly?

Harry approaches the boy at his desk, pressing an elbow against the wall as he fixes serious eyes on the boy’s almost jittery surface-wiping. 

“You okay?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, letting out half of a laugh that seems forced more than anything.  “I just—“ he rips another piece of paper towel away before he begins wiping again.  “Like _thirty minutes ago_ , I found out my dad is coming tomorrow morning and I’m trying to clean up.”

Harry watches as he disposes of the paper towels, now going into his closet in order to pull out what looks like a tiny vacuum hose.  The boy seriously looks _rattled_ —more than Harry’s ever seen him, which is saying a _lot_.

“You sure you still wanna go today?” Harry asks, concerned.  “We can always postpone—“

“No, we’re good.  I’m almost done,” Louis says, the vacuum making moderately loud humming noises now that he’s turned it on.  He works to get into the _very_ edges of the wall, eyes hard and concentrated as he slides the nose of the hose against it. 

Once it seems Louis’ finally done scanning for crumbs in every crevice and corner of his room, he does away with the vacuum, now reaching for a pair of sneakers in his closet and pulling them out.

“You seem like you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, honestly,” Harry says, crossing his arms as he rests his back against the wall.

“Nope, I’m good,” Louis replies, now sat on the edge of his bed as he works on tying his shoes.  “I need a good deed in order to balance out my week, anyway.”

“You _measure_ your good deeds?” Zayn asks incredulously, his interest successfully ripped away from the poster as he now looks at Louis.  Harry has to fight the urge to roll his eyes, because obviously, the boy doesn’t know Louis like Harry does, which is why he’s so surprised.  _Of course_ Louis measures his good deeds, because he measures everything in order to maintain the precise schedule that is his _life_.

Louis blinks at him with a blank face for a moment.  “Is there something wrong with that?”

“It’s…it’s unnatural,” Zayn says.  “If you’re really trying to balance out your life, you’ve gotta start with yourself dude.”

“And how do I do that, wise one?” Louis asks as he finishes up his second shoe.

“First of all, your room—it’s completely wrong.  It’s all wrong,” Zayn says, rotating fully in order to get a good look at it, his face fixated in aversion.  “The bed should be all the way over _there_.  Have you ever heard of feng shui?  It actually works.”

Louis stares at him for a moment, and Harry can see the smile threatening to work its way onto his face if he looks hard enough, but as always, Louis stores it away as he pushes himself up to his feet, rubbing his hands together and looking pointedly at Harry.

“Great.  Now I’ve got _two_ hippies to deal with,” he says.

Harry grins crookedly as he locks eyes with the boy.  “Now you can use us to even out your tightly wound roommate.  It’s all about _balance,_ right?”

Louis smirks very slightly as he nods at Harry, before walking toward where his jacket is hung up by his bathroom door.  “Sure, Harry.”

While he’s doing that, Harry can’t help that his eyes that roam the boy’s desk eventually fall upon a worn sheet of paper that seems to be inside one of the drawers, which is pulled only slightly open, giving him the ability to see inside of it to a small degree.  Although it’s fairly dim as the sheet of paper remains in there, Harry can see that it’s titled “Five Year Plan”, which instantly sparks his intrigue.

He doesn’t get to pursue this intrigue for long before he’s taken aback by Louis placing his glasses down on top of his desk and tilting his head down in order to get Harry’s attention at the same time, sufficiently bringing the boy’s gaze back up to him.  He’s not going to admit that a tiny part of him is sad that the glasses are done making an appearance.

“Shall we?” the boy says with a smile, patting at Harry’s shoulder before making his way past him and out of his room.

The ride there is fine—for the most part.  Harry mildly regrets being the one to drive, because it becomes clear after several minutes that Zayn and Louis are talking, and he can hear none of it because of the loud wind due to the fact that the top is still down (thank you _Zayn_ ).  Zayn’s sat next to him and he keeps looking over the shoulder of his seat to talk to the boy, and they’re _laughing_ about something, and—the fact that Harry isn’t in on any of the jokes is highly frustrating.  What’s even more frustrating is that Harry doesn’t know what they’re _talking_ about, which is troubling since Zayn had been teasing him about the boy earlier.

Obviously, they’re getting on quite easily, which is perfectly okay.  Harry’s not feeling anything but happiness at the fact that Louis and his best friend are getting acquainted so well.  He’s definitely not _jealous_ , because there’s no reason to be.

Once they get to the daycare center, all goes as nicely as Harry had planned.  Zayn had come with Harry before, so the kids didn’t react too surprisingly to his appearance, but the presence of Louis had all the little ones flocking to him, interrogating him about what his name was and why his hair was so fluffy and if he had any candy.

Louis seems to soak all of it up like a happy sponge, participating in handing out the snacks with Harry _and_ engaging in a game of duck-duck-goose, _willingly_.

Louis’ also noticeably not as wound-up as before, when he’d been cleaning his room to a T and wore the anguished eyes of a single father of four.  He’s beyond comfortable now, he’s laughing, he’s smiling, and he may even be glowing.

“So why don’t you come everyday?” Maya asks Louis, a slinky in her hands as she continues to swing it back and forth.

Everyone’s sat on the rug, including Louis and Harry as they remain situated beside each other, and Zayn’s sitting on a small stool in the front and reading a book to everyone (taking a substantially longer amount of time than what’s called for on each page).  He has most of everyone’s attention as they listen to him eagerly while he gets through the pages with the speed of a tortoise, but Maya seems to be the one who isn’t fully done being infatuated with Louis yet.

“I’m just really busy,” Louis replies, his legs crossed underneath him.  “I’d love to come every day though.  This is way better than my job.”

“ _This_ should be your job,” she says excitedly, beaming with delight.

Louis nods enthusiastically in agreement, causing Harry to bite back a grin.  “It should, shouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, you’re _way_ better at giving out the snacks than Harry,” she says.

“ _Hey,_ ” Harry finally cuts in, furrowing his eyebrows as he moves his eyes between the both of them.  “I’m _good_ at giving out snacks, okay?”

Maya laughs as she shakes her head.  “Nope.  Louis gives us more fruit snacks even if we’re only allowed to have one bag.”

Harry turns to face Louis again, the boy now looking off and away as he pretends not to be listening.

“Is that right?” Harry asks.

“No—I have _no_ idea what she’s talking about,” Louis answers dramatically, causing Maya to protest vehemently as Louis tunes out whatever else she has to say with his hands to his ears.  She ends up giggling endlessly, and Harry is sure his insides are now made of sugar and cinnamon.

“He’s not a better snack-giver,” Harry says, bringing his voice low.  “He’s a rule breaker—“

“Hey.  Harry,” Zayn says, causing Harry’s head to come up as all the kids who had been silently listening to Zayn’s reading turn their eyes toward him.

“Could you try maybe not taking the attention away from me?” the boy asks, his face serious.  “This is a _very_ moving story about a pigeon that tapped into itself in order to realize self-absorption isn’t the key to long-term contentment.  Everyone should listen.”

“Ooh I _love_ pigeons!” Maya perks up, her focus having shifted in less than an instant as she hops up and goes to join the rest of the group.

“Imagine him as a teacher,” Louis says quietly, leaning into Harry once the boy has gone back to reading.

“God,” Harry replies, throwing his head back as he fights not to giggle too loudly.  “He’d make the students write essays on balancing their chakras.”

Louis laughs in response, and they have a quiet round of jokes and giggles in the back of the group as Zayn now asks different kids their take on what the lesson from the book is.

“So…” Harry says at some point, running his fingers against the pattern in the rug.  “Are you having fun so far?”

Louis nods in response, and the answer is pretty much written on his face as it brightens.  “Yeah.  It’s pretty cool that you do this, to be honest.”

“I’d do it all the time if I could,” Harry replies.  “Kids are so much easier to work with than older people.  They’re simple.”

“So who’s that one kid you were talking about?” Louis asks, his eyes scanning the various children in the room for a moment.  “Ayden?”

A weird sense of coziness is pleasantly felt throughout Harry’s body in response to the boy remembering the name, and he has to fight to make sure the feeling isn’t showing too vividly on the outside.

Harry briefly tilts his head toward the little blond boy sat in the midst of the group, big blue eyes focused purely on Zayn. 

“He’s not good with strangers, which is why he hasn’t approached me much today since I’ve been near you,” Harry says.  “Gets really shy.”

It seems that Zayn has finally ended his session as the kids are now released to roam around and play and draw and do whatever their hearts desire.

“It makes sense that he’d like you the most as a volunteer then,” Louis replies, one side of his lips curving upward as a boy now comes up behind him and rides a toy train against his shoulder.

“Why?” Harry asks.

“I guess you…” Louis starts, scratching at his chin as he thinks about it.  “You have a way of making people comfortable.  That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Harry’s surprised he’s not melting into a pile of liquid and blending in with the rug right now. 

“Are you guys friends?” train boy asks (Harry would know his name, but he doesn’t come often).

Louis looks over his shoulder at the boy, and then he brings his eyes back forth to Harry, where the boy awaits his gaze with slightly uncertain eyes.

“Of course,” Louis says quietly.

It seems Harry lets out a smooth breath in response to that, and he doesn’t even know why he’d held still for a second.  Of _course_ they’re friends.  He just didn’t know that hearing the boy _say_ it—having it out in the open—would feel _this_ good.

Harry’s about to open his mouth in order to say something sweet when he’s interrupted by Zayn coming up to stand by them.

“I’m hungry as _hell_ ,” the boy says, followed by a yawn as he stretches out his arms. 

Harry widens his eyes as he shakes his head.  “You might not wanna use that word in this environment.”

Zayn looks around for a moment, as though he’s completely forgotten where he is.  “Right.  Sorry,” he says.  “Anyway, I’m gonna get some food.  Who wants to come?”

“Well, I can’t come,” Harry replies.  “You know I have to stay here until the last child gets picked up.”

“What about her?” Zayn asks, pointing a thumb across the room to where Sarah sits, once again, at the table as her thumbs nearly break off from all of the phone browsing.

Harry does nothing but make a displeased face at the boy in response to his words, and Zayn shrugs it off as he turns to Louis.

“C’mon,” he nearly whines, lightly kicking at the boy’s thigh.

Harry thinks it’s quite laughable that Zayn believes Louis would just _leave_ him—

“Sure, I could use a bite,” Louis replies, gripping onto Zayn’s extended hand in order to get up. 

Zayn grins with pleasure as he gently pushes his hands against Louis’ back whilst following him toward the coat rack.

Harry’s pretty sure he’s never been this offended in his life.  All he can do is sit there with his mouth parted open, wondering how Zayn managed to succeed in getting Louis to warm up to him in less than five hours while it took Harry a few _weeks_.

“See you, Harry!” is the last thing Zayn says before they leave out the door.

Harry’s not sure he’s supposed to hear what Zayn murmurs into the boy’s ear right before the door closes behind them, but he does.

“We have to finish that conversation,” was what he had said.

And now Harry’s mouth is hung open to a greater degree, because—what _conversation?_ Jesus, how much had they talked about?  And why isn’t Harry a part of it?

For the first time, Harry’s annoyed by the fact that he has to stay here instead of out there with them, being a part of their conversation, being included, being with Louis.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this chapter & ur awesome if you've read this far!!!
> 
>    
> also s/o to laura, she used the phrase "datie datie thing" in one of her comments on my fics and i'm obsessed with how cute it sounds. she's one of my favorite readers :, )


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things are realized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Zu8qa0eV5M)) is the song they listen to in the car scene. it's called "daydream/wetdream/nightmare" by saint motel and it's a tubular jam!

 

 

“Does that happen often?”

Louis brings his eyes up in response to his father’s question, before he turns them toward what his father’s referring to and finds a cop car pulling towards a house across the street, opposite the sidewalk they’re walking on.

“No, _no_ ,” Louis replies, shaking his head as he slides a hand down the side of his neck.  “This is usually a quiet, nice area.”

His father seems all but convinced as he continues to glower in the direction of the blue and red flashing lights, the clinking of his dress shoes against the sidewalk contrasting with the soft pat of Louis’ sneakers.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Louis adds, sensing his father’s continued disapproval of the area.  “These are the _houses_ , and as you know, I live further down in the complex at the end of the road.”

“I don’t want to pay for you to live in a bad area,” his father replies sternly, now turning to look at his son with serious eyes.

“I _get_ it,” Louis replies calmly.  “It’s just one cop car, dad.”  He resists the urge to sigh too heavily as they keep on walking.

Louis’ dad has been around for a few days now, and Louis can admit, he’s been a bit… on edge because of it.  His father is very stern, difficult to please, and hardly ever impressed by anything, so Louis’ been having quite a struggle attempting to keep him satisfied each day, especially since they’re both aware he still hasn’t gotten a letter in the mail for the internship.  Louis has to continuously reassure him with sentences like “I just have to wait a bit longer” and “they probably haven’t sent them out yet”, even though he doesn’t know if he believes those words himself anymore.

He doesn’t blame his father for being the way he is as most people would like him to, because his father was brought up in a tough household and was far less privileged than Louis is now.  He had to fight his way out of a struggling home and build himself up so that he could eventually provide for Louis and Elizabeth like he does now, and he climbed the ladder all on his own.  It’s taught him to be strong and unbreakable, and all he’s trying to do is pass those traits onto Louis.  It seems he’s given up on Elizabeth in that aspect long ago, which pains Louis just a bit, but he doesn’t let it get to him too much. 

“Any acceptance letters yet?” his father asks, joining his fingers together in front of him as he walks, the both of them nearing Louis’ building.

“I haven’t even finished all of my graduate school applications yet,” Louis replies, working his way up the stairs alongside his father.

“Why?”

Louis moves his mouth wordlessly for a moment, knowing he has a reason but not being able to voice that reason because of the harsh way his father is now staring at him.  “I—I just—“

“If you end up staying at home instead of furthering your education, you’re not staying for free,” his father interrupts sternly, the both of them now approaching his front door.  “You’ll be paying rent.”

Louis nods in response, biting the inside of his cheek as he lets out a slightly shaky breath.  “I get it.  You’ve told me before,” he replies quietly.  “Most of the deadlines haven’t come yet.  I still have time.”

His father smacks his teeth as he moves around the watch that’s on his wrist.  “Sounds risky and stupid, but if that’s what you want to do, then so be it.”

Louis frowns only faintly, resting his back against the door behind him as he watches his father reach into one of the pockets inside of his blazer.

“Very well, Tomlinson,” he says, pulling a crisp, white envelope out and extending it towards Louis.  “I’ll see you whenever else I get the chance to drop by.”

Louis takes the envelope from him, already knowing there’s a check for both rent and extra spending money inside.  “Thanks,” he replies.

And after one firm handshake, his father’s headed back down the stairs, and Louis’ turned around in order to get his key into the front door.

“What a lovely man you have as a father,” is the first thing he hears upon entering.  He doesn’t even attempt to give Liam one of his scowls in response to his notorious eavesdropping, because he’s pretty sure the boy would just feed off of the negative attention.  He instead just offers a bitter laugh as he prepares to close the door behind himself.

“Because you should _definitely_ be the judge of lovely men…” Louis says, his words fading to an end once he turns around and gets a good look at his flat.

Liam’s sat, perched up on a stool by the kitchen counter as he writes things down on some piece of paper, and— _that_ part is completely expected.  What’s _not_ expected is the fact that there are different colored pieces of masking tape e _verywhere_.

“What _is_ this?” Louis asks fairly loudly, taking a step forward and having completely forgotten about the front door as it remains open behind him.

There are long pieces of tape laid down the middle of the couch in the living room, split straight through the rug in the living room, laid down in the middle of the hallway floor leading towards their bedrooms, stretching down the middle of the kitchen table, flat across the surface of the counter, and even down the center of the _stove._

“I found a pencil in my room,” Liam says, not having brought his head up to look at Louis once as he continues to write things down on paper (it almost looks like he’s playing _Sudoku)._ “The pencil wasn’t mine.  I don’t know how it got there, and I don’t _want_ to know how it got there.  Just know, you made me do this.”

Louis shakes his head slightly as he continues to look around, wondering why exactly _he_ was the one who just _had_ to be blessed with an actual crazy person as a flatmate.  What did he _do_ to deserve this?

“Are you out of your _mind_?” Louis asks incredulously, approaching closer to Liam (and yep, he _is_ playing Sudoku).  “I’ve _never_ been in your room!”

“Sure,” Liam replies.  “Stay on your side of things, and I’ll stay on mine.  There’s a new rule added to the fridge: don’t cross the line.”

Louis looks down at the blue piece of tape across the kitchen counter, and then he looks at where Liam is situated on one distinct side of it.  He also can’t help but notice that the counter is disproportionately divided, and Liam is currently on the largest side of it.

“You can’t do this,” Louis says frantically, almost in disbelief.

“He can’t do what?” comes a voice from behind Louis, near the front door that he hasn’t closed.

Louis fully expects to see Zayn at his front door once he turns around, because he’d told the boy to be on his way just a few minutes ago.

It’s become sort of a routine thing for them in just a few days, going out for coffee at the start of the morning and generally just letting loose before having to get through the rest of the day.  Who Zayn is as a person really comes in handy for that sort of thing.

“He can’t do _this_!” Louis says, now facing Zayn as he gestures wildly around the flat.  “Do you not see it?”

Zayn pushes himself away from the doorframe where he’d originally had his foot propped up behind him, and he looks around the place with those same wandering eyes that Louis has learned by now _always_ have a look of sleepiness behind them.

“I kinda dig it.  Gives the place sort of a cool, retro vibe,” Zayn says finally, looking at Louis with a grin. He reaches out a hand in order to pat at his shoulder once he notices Louis’ thoroughly displeased facial expression.  “You should seriously take a chill pill.”

 _This_ is what actually brings about some sort of human reaction from Liam, the boy chuckling for a mere half second as he continues his number puzzle.

“Can I move in with you guys?  Seriously,” Louis asks as he watches Zayn lean against the counter with his elbows rested on the surface behind him.

“I mean, you _could_ , but you’d have to sleep on top of someone,” Zayn replies with a giggle.  “Even though I definitely wouldn’t mind if you slept on top of _me_ , because, you know…” he pauses for a moment to cough into his hand pointedly in an attempt to gather all the attention in the room.  “I’m very _single_.”

“Nope, we’re not doing this,” Louis says with a sigh, moving forward in order to grip onto Zayn’s arm so that they can leave.

“Can this tape disappear by the time I get back from work?” Louis calls over his shoulder as he pushes Zayn out of the front door with a grunt.  “Thanks!”

Louis knows, even after only a very short time of becoming familiar with the boy, that Zayn has this weird infatuation with Liam, and he’s trying his absolute best to steer him in the other direction for many reasons; one, Liam is not capable of being compassionate enough to ever be interested in anyone, and two, Liam is very unlikable, so the fact that Zayn likes him is reason enough for Louis to be convinced the boy is insane.

Louis also enjoys Zayn very much as a person, and he’s looking out for him just as he would any other friend.  It’s been quite a while since Louis was ever able to just warm up to someone as quickly and effortlessly as he’s done with Zayn, so he doesn’t take it lightly, the fact that they’re so close and comfortable.  He almost feels as though Zayn is his long lost brother, because that’s how well they just _fit._   Louis’ always wanted a brother, anyway.

 

~*~

 

“Still can’t believe you drink it like that,” Louis says, his face twisted in slight disgust as he sits on the high chair across from Zayn.

The boy enjoys his coffee completely black—no milk, no cream, and certainly no type of sugar—and Louis hasn’t hesitated to let him know he’s sickened by it every chance he’s gotten.

Zayn brings his lips to hover over his mug as he blows gently at it.  “It’s better for your health.”  He takes a brief sip out of his mug once he’s sufficiently cooled it down before he continues speaking.  “Have you ever thought about how much sugar you would’ve consumed _just_ from your morning cup by the end of the year?  It can’t be good for your heart, it just _can’t_.”

“No, but it’s good for my taste buds,” Louis replies with a grin, before taking a healthy sip out of his cup that actually has some type of color to it.  “You’re gonna have bitter coffee breath for the rest of the day.”

“After a while, you get used to the natural, bitter taste,” Zayn replies, lazily kicking at Louis underneath the table and forcing him to have to kick back at him, which results in both of their laughter.  “But enjoy being brainwashed by your creams and artificial sweeteners.”

Starting his day off like this always sends Louis into a calmer mood, especially before work, where he has to deal with annoying things like excessive dust, Bobby being generally annoying and unhelpful, and now, a plethora of customers. 

Zayn is sort of like Harry, but three times more intensified, which was something Louis never knew—or even began to _think_ —he would ever need. 

The thought of Harry causes Louis to remember a question he’d been meaning to ask Zayn.

“So…about Harry,” Louis begins, drumming his fingers against the side of his to-go cup.  “Has he gotten anything in the mail recently?”

Zayn thinks on the question a moment, taking a long gulp out of his beverage before setting it down and shaking his head.  “Not that I know of.”

Louis tries not to react too noticeably, but he fails as he sighs heavily and slumps back in his chair.

“I can’t believe we _both_ didn’t get it,” Louis says dejectedly.  “What a fucking waste.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Zayn says, reaching forward in order to gently grip Louis’ wrist.  “Nothing’s a _waste_.”

Louis raises his eyebrows at the boy as he tilts his head.  “Really?  Stressing over something only to get nothing in return at the end seems like a waste to me.”

“No, it’s not,” Zayn replies.  “ _If_ you didn’t get it—which you don’t even know for _sure_ yet—it just means that’s not the direction your life is supposed to be headed right now.”

Louis releases tension in his body just a bit as Zayn continues to hold his wrist.

“I mean, think about it,” Zayn says, now letting go of him as he leans his elbow on the circular surface of the table.  “Moving six hours away, getting several new opportunities because of it, basically _kick starting_ the next phase of your life?  That’s a lot,” he says.

Louis leans forward in his seat, not meaning to look and sound so desperate as he speaks.  “Yeah, but I’m _ready_ for it.”

“But is the _universe_ ready for it?” Zayn offers in response, Louis immediately rolling his eyes as he pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time.  “Ask yourself _that_ question.”

“Whatever you say, Z,” Louis replies, sliding out of his chair as he now realizes he should’ve left for work a while ago.  “Now I have to go to work, but you hold that thought, alright?”  He picks his skateboard up from where he’d had it leaned against the chair, already dreading the thought of being even one minute late.

Zayn grins slightly as he shrugs, before bringing his lips back down to his mug in order to sip at it from where it rests on the table.

Louis leaves out of the coffee shop in quite a rush, dropping his skateboard down onto the ground before he’s off in the direction of his job.

He has a few seconds to spare once he reaches his destination, which is a slight relief as he punches his numbers in.  He’s still displeased, however, to find that he’s been assigned to work behind the register for the day, which is objectively the most boring task one could do at this job.

It’s even worse because of the fact that Ted had used a few scraps of his authority in order to tell Louis he didn’t want him to study at the front counter anymore because it “upsets the mood for customers”, so he can’t even use this nothing day to look over his notes and finish up some of his schoolwork.

Louis’ also pretty bummed out that even though Harry’s working the same day as him, he’s assigned to carry out tasks in the storage room, which means they probably won’t see each other today.  It’s definitely one of _those_ days, where Louis’ reminded that this is an actual job and not a place for kicking back and doing what one desires.

Harry’s pretty much been a positive factor throughout Louis’ recent work days, because the boy’s presence automatically makes the day less boring, which makes it all the more depressing that Ted’s locked him up in the storage room.  Louis had gotten used to seeing him often and being cheered up whenever he came in through the entrance and saw that Harry was situated behind the counter, that same warm grin spread across his cheeks as he greets Louis as though he’d been waiting for him to come in.  The boy is probably the human embodiment of one of those birthday cards that pop out when you open them, which can be both annoying for some and endearing for others—Louis being the “others” of course.

Louis spends a lot of his day checking customers out, repeating the words “How are you?” and “Have a nice day” so many times that he feels he may forget how to say anything else.  Eventually, the business of the day, along with the slew of customers, begins to slow down a bit, allowing Louis some more time to be outrageously bored as he twiddles his thumbs where they’re rested in his lap.

He knows that the phone hooked up to the speakers right now has to be Harry’s, because the music playing throughout the store makes that very clear.  The boy has sort of a randomized, spontaneous taste in music, which explains why “Tik Tok” by Kesha has come on after something by Stevie Nicks.

Louis grins tightly as he attempts to begin his task of sorting out the receipts in the register.

It doesn’t take long for his grin to fall once he’s reminded of the reasons why he _shouldn’t_ be so smiley, such as the memory of his dad being stern with him this morning and the sprinkles of disappointment Louis could literally sense within the man that’s caused him to feel weary for hours now.  He just wishes there were a way to make the man undoubtedly proud—he can’t remember the last time he’d come even close to doing that.

Louis faintly shakes his head, deciding that he’s only going to grow glum the more he thinks about it, and it’s best if he just focuses on sorting out these receipts.

He does that successfully for a short while, before he almost gets the breath knocked out of him when a sock puppet appears out of _thin air_ , right in front of the counter as it lip syncs along to the chorus of the song that’s playing.

Louis exhales harshly, his severe shock now followed by a breathy chuckle as he realizes it’s definitely Harry that has snuck up on him, probably crawled all the way there in order not to be seen, and has now stuck his socked hand in the air just to entertain Louis.

Louis shakes his head at the sock in front of him, before grabbing onto the boy’s hand and lip syncing into the sock enthusiastically, as though it’s a microphone.

Harry makes dramatic wheezing noises from where he’s still on his knees in front of the counter, clearly indicating that Louis is smothering the sock puppet to death.

Louis leans over the counter, grinning down at the boy, who grins back up at him as their hands remain attached. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis says, before he settles back into his seat and continues his activity of organizing the receipts.  “Isn’t there something you should be doing?”

“Well,” Harry replies, now standing up as he seems to be working to slide his sock back onto his foot.  “I was on my way to carry some more boxes to the back when I noticed you over here, looking really sad,” he finishes, working to shove his foot back into his shoe as he leans his elbows against the counter.

Louis looks up at him as he knits his eyebrows together.  “I’m not _sad_.”

“I mean, it looked like something was bothering you,” Harry says.  “And I think that by now, I have a pretty good read on you.”

Louis laughs as he shares gaze with the boy, shaking his head with amusement.  “Sure you do.”

“No, really.  I do,” Harry says.  “Like, when you’re happy, I’ll immediately notice it, because you don’t have that sort of permanent, irritated look on your face, and you laugh at things a lot more, and you don’t vigorously tap against stuff or find ways to keep your hands busy.”

Louis looks down at where he’s currently organizing receipts quickly with one hand and tapping against the edge of the counter with the other.  He slowly stops as he brings his eyes back up to the boy, feeling both exposed and impressed.

“You…must watch me a lot,” Louis says, laughing just a bit.

Harry quickly shakes his head, looking down at the carpeted floor for a moment as he takes a step back from the counter.  “No—definitely not, I just…I’m really observant,” the boy replies through breathy chuckles.  “Of _everyone_.”

Louis nods slowly in response, witnessing another one of those _moments_ where he’s reminded of just how strange Harry is.  “Okay, Harry,” he replies, before going back to working on his receipts.

“I have to get back to work and all that,” the boy says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as he rocks on his heels.

“Obviously,” Louis replies as he continues his work.

“But maybe we can talk about how weirdly observant I am over pizza?” he asks hesitantly, causing Louis to bring his face back up to look at him.  “After I get off.  _Only_ if you want,” he adds.

Louis flashes a grin as he stacks a few of the same receipts together.  “Sure.”

With a pleased look on his face, Harry salutes the boy before walking away (not before immediately bumping into an aisle upon turning around, however), back where he’d been for the past few hours, and Louis watches his retreat with a lingering gaze. 

He doesn’t know how it happened, and he doesn’t know why it happened, but they’re definitely friends now.  And Louis doesn’t have one problem with it, not even a bit.

Just as planned, after Harry gets off about half an hour after Louis, they come together in order to embark on this late evening adventure of obtaining some boxes of pizza.  What doesn’t surprise Louis at all is the fact that Harry claims there’s this place about a twenty-five minute drive away that serves "the best pizza in the world”, and that he won’t be content until Louis tries it, which is why they end up in Louis’ car, quite a distance away from home as they sit in the front seats and open hot boxes of pizza. The boy’s music plays at a very low volume in the background of everything, Harry having immediately connected his phone to the Bluetooth audio once he’d gotten in the passenger seat.

Harry’s attentive eyes have just watched intensely as Louis took his first bite out of a slice of the pepperoni pizza, and now he waits eagerly, suspenseful of the boy’s review after only one taste. 

“What?” Louis asks, his mouth half full as he looks at the boy.

“What do you think of it?” Harry asks impatiently, pushing at his arm.

Louis shoves the boy’s hand away as he takes another bite out of his pizza, not having any shame in talking with his mouth full.  “Give me a moment, alright?  I can give a detailed review only after I’ve had at _least_ four slices.”

The pizza _is_ quite good, though—probably the best Louis’ had in a while—but he’s not going to satisfy Harry’s hopefulness so soon.

“You just love to keep me waiting,” Harry replies, before breaking a slice away and bringing it to his own mouth.  His act of biting down into it doesn’t go down successfully, because he ends up breathing heavily and fanning his open mouth as he whispers the words “ _hot, hot, hot”_ , Louis watching it all with blinking eyes and quivering lips.

“ _God_ , there should be a warning on these things,” Harry mutters once he’s finally able to chew comfortably.

Louis gestures at a specific place on the cardboard box where it reads _Caution: Contents are hot_ as he looks at Harry.  “I think there is.”

“Shut up,” Harry replies through a mouthful of pizza.

“You’re a total dork,” Louis laughs with a shake of his head as he works to twist open a bottle of soda they’d gotten with the pizza.  “It’s not even that hot, anyway.”

“You must have a tongue of steel then, because I don’t know how you survived that,” Harry replies, taking notice of Louis’ ( _tiny_ ) struggle with the two liter bottle and reaching out in order to twist it open for him in half a second.

Louis looks down at the now loose cap on the bottle, before directing his eyes upward to Harry.  “I was getting that.”

“Sure you were,” Harry replies, before blowing vigorously on a second slice of pizza.

“You’re still a wimp who can’t handle a slice of hot pizza.”

“Knowing you, you’re probably just challenging yourself to see if you can handle it,” Harry replies.

“I’m _not_ , but even if I was, that wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Louis replies.  “It’s called training yourself to be tough.”

Harry bites down on his lip as he looks at Louis, the boy not being bothered at all by his gaze as he continues to devour this pizza that’s tasting better with every passing second.

“Who _teaches_ you these things?” Harry asks abruptly.

“No one,” Louis replies.  “My father just didn’t raise me to be weak.”

Harry snaps a finger as he throws his head back for a moment, as though something’s come to him.  “ _That’s_ it.  Your dad.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows as he slows down his chewing a bit.  “What do you mean?”

“Wasn’t he supposed to be visiting?” Harry asks.

Louis nods in response.  “Yeah.  He actually just left this morning.”

“That makes so much sense, because _now_ , you’re like, laughing at everything and making jokes and mellowing out,” Harry says.  “Which you haven’t really done in the last few days.”

They’re quiet for a moment as Harry’s music continues throughout the car, Louis swallowing and contemplating the truth of Harry’s words.

“Well…” Louis begins, wiping his hands off on a napkin.  “I guess him being here _did_ have me a bit on edge.  But that’s only because he expects a lot of me, which I fully understand.”

“Your dad seems strict.”

“I mean, he _is_ , but I can’t blame that on him,” Louis replies, before looking pointedly at Harry.  “You know he had to start working at fourteen to support his family?  I have it so much easier than he did growing up—he's the reason I'm even _here_ and able to make something of myself, so it’d be bratty for me to complain.”

The absolute silence from the boy completely makes sense when Louis looks over at him to find his jaw dropped and his eyes dazed as though he’d seen the future.

He faintly shakes his head as he looks straight ahead.  “This explains so much about you.”

“ _Again_ ,” Louis replies, throwing a hand in the air.  “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ I understand you better now, and that’s all you need to know,” the boy answers. 

“I’m _sick_ of you and Zayn acting like you’re the world’s best philosophers, you know that?” Louis replies, reclining against his seat as he takes a huge gulp out of the bottle of soda.  He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket before he continues speaking.  “I could make inferences on who you are as a person if I wanted to.”

“Oh really?” Harry replies, sounding less than convinced as he positions his entire body to face Louis, leaning on the armrest of the chair.  “Go ahead, then.”

Louis grins lopsidedly under the pressure of Harry’s big eyes focused purely on him, but he tries his hand at it anyway.

“Well, I’m guessing you have super laid-back parents who wouldn’t even raise their voices at you if you flunked out of school,” Louis begins. 

“ _Ehhh_ ,” Harry cuts in loudly, resembling the sound of a thunderous buzzer.  “Wrong.  I grew up with only my mum, so the plurality of the word _parents_ is incorrect.”

“…alright,” Louis replies, standing corrected.  “Then I’m guessing your _mother_ somehow plays a factor in why you’re so sociable and outgoing—“

“ _Ehhh_ ,” Harry cuts in again, Louis half a second from covering his ears as he winces away.  “I’m not sociable.”

Louis looks at the boy as though he’s absurd.  “Are you _kidding_?  Yes you _are_ —“

“No, I’m not.”

Louis extends his leg out toward the boy, kicking at his thigh as Harry pushes him away and laughs.  “Stop trying to prove me wrong about everything,” he orders him.

“I’m messing up your perfect streak, aren’t I?” Harry replies with a smile as he grabs a hold of Louis’ prying foot.

 _“Yes_ ,” Louis replies with frustration.

“Okay.  Well,” Harry begins, now drumming his fingers against Louis’ shoe as they both grow quiet.  “I guess I _am_ sociable, but at the same time I’m not.  Like, I look like I’m really good with befriending people and easy at just _throwing_ myself out there, but, I don’t know…” he says, his eyes going unfocused as he continues to speak.  “I guess I’m not really _sure_ what kind of person I am, I’m just now realizing.”  He begins laughing a bit, looking at Louis as he’s pulled out of whatever intensely focused thought had consumed him for a moment.

“You’re a walking paradox,” Louis replies, grinning warmly.

Harry nods in agreement, sitting up a little as he continues to absentmindedly mess with Louis’ shoe.  “Yeah.  When you put it that way, I sound really cool,” he says, now wearing a prideful expression on his face.

“But you have to admit, you’re way more…” he gestures vaguely with his hands as he thinks of what to say.  “ _Out there_ than me.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna help you with that,” Harry replies.  “You definitely need to expand your social horizons.”

“I’m perfectly content sitting here with one person, eating pizza in the middle of some parking lot on the other side of town, thank you very much,” Louis replies.  “I don’t think I need much more than this.”

Harry brings his head down in order to nuzzle against Louis’ shoe, practically cooing as Louis blinks at him bewilderedly.

“ _Awww_ , you’re so sweet,” the boy sings.  “But you’re definitely coming to the glow fest the Omega Sigmas are throwing, and you’re gonna become friends with all of _my_ friends.”

Louis twists his face into one of displeasure.  “ _Those_ dipsticks?  I’d rather be friends with a wall.”

Louis fishes into the pocket of his jacket in order to get out his pack of cigarettes, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that he hasn’t had a good smoke in a while.

“Hey—“

“Nope.  Please, I’ve had a stressful last few days and I just _need_ this,” Louis interrupts, already having a sense of what it is Harry’s going to say as he lights the tip of a cigarette.

“I know, and I was just _trying_ to say,” Harry begins, leaning forward in order to turn up whatever song is playing.  “This song reminds me of you.”

Louis pauses for a moment once he’s blown smoke out from between his lips, listening to the overall soothing sound of some indie rock song flooding the atmosphere of his car.  It sounds both festive and restfully mellow, which brings Louis to think Harry is full of it.  He presses his lips together in a grin before he opens his mouth in order to take another drag of the cigarette.

“How on earth does this song remind you of me?” Louis asks, muttering around the cigarette.

Harry shrugs in his peripheral.  “I dunno.  I was just listening to it the other day and thought…” he extends his hands out in front of him, as though envisioning something.  “ _Louis_.”

Louis sighs as he lowers the window by his seat, allowing the smoke to escape into the dark skies of the night.  “If that’s how you feel, then I guess I have no choice but to be flattered.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry replies gently.

They get into an atmosphere of calm silence as the song continues, and Louis can’t deny that it’s a great track.  It’s one of those songs that has numerous switches and various moods to it, and it just makes him feel splendid. 

“And,” Harry begins, breaking the quiet calmness of the car.  “Even if I _was_ going to open my mouth about you smoking, how could you _possibly_ get mad at me for that?”

Louis looks at him for a moment, sucking on his cigarette pointedly as Harry’s fingers rest at his ankle.

“People _die_ from that,” Harry says.  “You can’t blame me for actually wanting you around for a while.”

Louis feels something pooling in his gut at Harry words, and he assumes it’s a stomachache due to the fact that Harry’s being so goddamn sappy right now.

“You’re being way too soft for me right now,” Louis laughs, now beginning to kick at the boy again.  “Toughen _up_ , for goodness’ sake.”

“Shut up,” Harry giggles, now grasping at Louis’ foot again as Louis fights to continue kicking him.

The car is filled with their breathy chuckles and restless movements as Louis playfully yells for the boy to let go of him, Harry now threatening to eat his foot as he mockingly bites his teeth at it.

Once they finally decide they’re done with consuming pizza and staying in the same parking lot for hours, they drive back to Louis’ complex.  That _would’ve_ been where they parted ways, but Harry made a pretty bold claim about how he knows how to put a leg behind his head because of how he used to take a certain yoga class, and now Louis _has_ to see it, even if it’s the last thing he ever sees.

They stumble through his front door in excessive laughter because of how Harry had tripped on the very last stair before they’d reached his flat.  He can already feel Liam’s annoyed eyes piercing into the back of his head as he locks the front door.

“Brought you some left over pizza,” Louis greets, coming over to the living room and plopping the box down on the table in front of Liam as the boy pauses reading his novel.

“It’s the best pizza in the _world_ ,” Harry comments, coming up behind Louis and setting both hands on his shoulders.  “You should definitely try it.”

“I don’t know where it’s been,” Liam replies, before shifting his eyes back down to his book.  “You could be trying to poison me again, for all I know.”

Harry crashes down on the couch next to Liam, furrowing his eyebrows at Louis as though he’s not quite sure who the boy is anymore.

“You’ve tried to _poison_ him before?”

“If that’s what you call pouring salt into his water bottle _once_ ,” Louis replies, sitting down on top of the table across from them.  “I didn’t _have_ to save this pizza for you, Liam.  Now you’re gonna say _thank you_ and appreciate me as a kindhearted flat mate, or I’m never going to be this thoughtful _again_.”

“I’m okay with that,” Liam replies.

Harry stifles his laughs with both of his hands as he leans forward on his knees, Louis turning stern eyes towards him.

“I’m sorry, but you guys are so funny,” he chuckles.

“Do you _see_ this?” Louis asks, gesturing at the piece of tape on top of the table that’s not too far from where he’s sitting.  “This is not _funny_.”

Upon noticing the tape, Harry then moves his eyes around in order to see all the other places around the house in which Liam has marked, and he seems both fascinated and puzzled.

“It is, kinda,” Harry replies.  “The colors of the tape give everything kind of a retro feel.”

At this, Liam positively bursts with laughter, his attention finally drawn away from his novel as he makes a point to look at Louis, probably because Zayn had said the exact same thing earlier.

Liam has laughed twice today, which is more than he’s ever laughed in the many months that Louis has lived with him.  It’s offensive, as well as just a bit hurtful, but Louis decides he doesn’t care.

“You should lighten up,” Liam replies.  “Like your friends.”

“Don’t worry, I’m working on him,” Harry says, reaching out to lightly pat at Louis’ knee.  “I was telling him about coming to this glow party the Omega Sigmas are throwing—“

“You mean the one they’re hosting with the girls at Kappa Nu?” Liam asks, now fully engaged as he closes his book.

Louis’ heartbeat becomes just a _little_ more evident in his ears at the mention of Kappa Nu, but he tries not to grow worried by it.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Harry asks, pleased by Liam’s knowledge of social events.

“I’d heard about it from a few people,” Liam replies, before turning his attention toward Louis.  Louis swallows in a way that’s not too noticeable, and he now has a growing desire to lunge forward and smother Liam with one of the decorative couch pillows before he can utter anything else.

“That girl—isn’t she a Kappa Nu?” Liam asks, pointing at Louis.  “The one you used to bring over here all the time and—“

“ _Yes_ , yeah,” Louis interrupts, attempting to stop him before he can go any further.  “I don’t really—“

“He used to bring her here _all the time_ ,” Liam continues, now facing Harry again, although the boy doesn’t look as pleased as he’d appeared just a few seconds ago.  “It drove me crazy, because she’d always leave her clothes on the floor.  Like, save it until you get to your _room_ , am I right?”

“Hey, Liam?  Shut _up_ ,” Louis snaps.  “Not everyone needs to know everything.”

“What happened to her, by the way?” Liam asks, uncharacteristically curious as he looks at Louis with interest.

Liam is the spawn of Satan, and Louis will never view him as anything less.

Her name was Fiona, and long story short, they didn’t work.  Louis doesn’t like to spend time thinking about it, talking about it, or even acknowledging the fact that the two of them _ever_ existed as a pair, because it was just a short period of trying and failing, embarrassment at the fact that Louis could never get “in the mood” whenever it was time, and having to severely break an eager girl’s heart.  Even now there still comes times where she tries her hand at rekindling everything, and Louis has to pull her aside and gently talk her out of trying.  He doesn’t care about the situation anymore, and he would love if Liam could allow it to be completely wiped from everyone’s memory.

Harry’s now looking at Louis a bit weirdly, his face blank as he purses his lips together and jumbles his hands on top of one another, and Liam’s looking at him with a sort of evil satisfaction.

“Aren’t you supposed to be showing me your superhuman flexibility?” Louis asks, already getting up from where he’s sat in order to nonverbally signal Harry to follow him.

Harry quickly switches from appearing uncertain to springing up from the couch, following behind Louis with excited feet.

“You’re gonna regret not believing me,” the boy says, brushing past Louis as they journey toward his bedroom.

Just as Louis had expected, Harry _can’t_ put a leg behind his head, which the boy blames on not being “stretched out enough”.

“Yeah _right_ ,” Louis replies, his arms crossed over his chest as he continues to watch Harry sit upon the carpet and vehemently attempt to get his leg over his head.  “Just admit you can’t do it.”

“No, I _can,_ ” Harry claims, setting both of his legs on the ground and spreading them out before reaching forward as far as he can.  He catches Louis’ eye as the boy watches him with entertainment, and eventually bursts into laughter the longer they hold eye contact.  “Dude I can’t do this with you looking at me like that.  It makes me laugh.”

Louis slides down from the bed and onto the ground before scooting toward Harry, grabbing a hold of his hands and pulling on them so that he can aid the boy in stretching, but of course, it ends in excessive laughter that both of them just can’t seem to control.

Louis’ in the middle of rolling over the floor with giggles at the fact that Harry’s _now_ trying his hand at balancing on his head, when he remembers what the date is.

“Holy shit,” Louis says, his laughs coming to an abrupt stop as he sits up.  He goes over to the calendar pinned against the wall near his desk, looking over it with sharp eyes.  “ _Fuck_.  There’s a pop quiz in history tomorrow and I haven’t even _studied_.”

Harry slowly gets up as well, coming up next to Louis in order to read the calendar as well, even though there’s nothing on it to read—Louis’ simply looking at the _dates._

“How would you know about a _pop_ quiz?” Harry asks.  “Doesn’t the word ‘pop’ imply the element of surprise?”

Louis turns to face him, setting a gentle hand on his chest and resisting the urge to bunch up the material of his shirt in a clenched fist.  “Since the beginning of the year, I’ve calculated when Professor Anderson gives them out,” he explains, before quickly grabbing his history textbook off of his desk.  “They’re not random.  Without fail, it happens about a week and a half after the previous one, on a prime-numbered date of the month.”

“Wait,” Harry says, his mind seemingly slow in processing this information as Louis gets on his knees in order to scour his bag for all the materials he needs in order to shove as much information as he can into his mind.  “Professor Anderson?  I _have_ that class.”

“Then you might wanna study,” Louis says, successfully pulling out a messy folder of papers from his backpack before getting up in order to grab his glasses off of his desk. 

He’s just about to make a beeline for his laptop that’s rested on the nightstand by his bed before Harry stops him by his shoulders.

“Hey,” Harry says, his tone relaxed and low.  “No worries.  We’ll keep calm and study for this together, because everyone knows that two heads are better than one.”

Louis begs to differ, but he also doesn’t have time to argue because sleepiness is starting to get to him and he hasn’t even _opened_ a book yet in order to study for this thing.

After Louis prepares his trusty concoction of tea and an energy drink (Harry having declined his offer when Louis asked if he wanted one), they’re settled on top of Louis’ bed, numerous books and handouts spread out on the duvet as they snack on an open container of Oreos Louis had pulled from on top of the fridge (he can’t remember if they’re Liam’s or his, and quite frankly, he doesn’t give a fuck).

Louis hasn’t noticed that they’ve only managed to quiz each other for thirty seconds as they now talk leisurely about things that have nothing to do with the subject.  Harry’s talking about how he rarely ever studies for things, which Louis isn’t surprised about in the least bit.

“Of course _you_ don’t stress out about things like this, because you always seem to just breeze by,” Louis replies, taking a sip out of his mug as he sits back against the pillow that’s propped up against the headboard of his bed.

“Hey.  I don’t _always_ ,” Harry replies, before popping a whole Oreo into his mouth.  “I just don’t always expect things to go perfectly, and put importance on everything, and make _five year plans_ , like some people,” he muffles through a full mouth.

Louis looks at him with just a bit of irritation behind his expression at the fact that Harry’s trying to talk down on the fact that he actually has a _plan_ for his life.  “I need my life to have some sort of direction, or else I’m just like…floating, and that’s _terrifying_ ,” Louis says, pushing his glasses further up on his nose.  “It’s also unacceptable.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, taking the time to chew and swallow as he focuses his eyes upon the mess on the bed in front of them.  “You never really let me look at your plan for long,” he replies, reaching into the plastic container for another cookie.

“There’s not much to it,” Louis replies, opening his mouth almost unconsciously in response to Harry bringing the Oreo up to his lips.  He chews vigorously for a while before continues.  “It’s simply how I want the next few years of my life to play out.  Go to a good graduate school, have a stable job, get married, and start a family.”

“I mean, when you put it like _that_ , it sounds simple, but it’s not,” Harry says, sitting up a little as he looks at Louis with sincerity.  “Like, ‘get married’?” the boy asks, putting up quotation marks as he chuckles for half a second.  “You can’t just add that to a list of things, as though it’s going to happen easily.”

Louis sighs as he rests his head against the headboard.  “It’s not like I’m a complicated person with an endless amount of needs.  I’m sure it won’t take too much effort.”

“So, this person you’re going to supposedly ‘marry’ in the future,” Harry starts, using those annoying air quotes once _again_.  “Would they be…” he says, his sentence coming to a questionable end that Louis doesn’t understand.

“They would be…someone I _trust_ ,” Louis finishes for him, still not understanding what the boy’s getting at.

Harry nods slowly, his eyes narrowing just a bit as he thinks on Louis’ words.  “So,” he begins again.  “You would be looking for a…” he gestures at Louis once more, as though the boy should know how to finish the sentence.

“A person I _like_?” Louis replies, as though the answers should be obvious.  He doesn’t understand this boy, he really doesn’t.

Harry rests his hands behind his head as he reclines, and he quietly mumbles something that Louis can’t hear.

“What?” Louis asks.

“Nothing,” Harry replies, stretching his lips into long grin.

The night becomes more peaceful and comfortable going onward, the both of them completely forgetting about what Louis had originally been going ballistic over and talking about any and everything until they can’t possibly talk anymore.

 

~*~

 

Louis wakes up to the feeling of cookie crumbs stuck to his cheek where he has his face smushed against his pillow, his glasses crooked and almost falling off of his face, and a mildly uneasy kick in his stomach from having put so many different foods in his system the night before.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.  Not even a little.

This brings him to lift his face away from the pillow, wiping the crumbs off of his cheek with his hand and sliding his glasses off of his face before turning around to find his bed still messy with books, sheets of paper, and Harry.  The boy sleeps the day away peacefully, his index finger slightly pointed toward Louis as his hand rests against the bed, as though he’d fallen asleep in the middle of saying something.

It takes a while for Louis to remember _why_ exactly the boy is on his bed and why everything is a mess, and when it hits him as hard as it does, Louis almost develops an instant migraine.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Louis says hurriedly, already pushing himself out of the bed as he snatches his phone off of the nightstand in order to check the time.  He hadn’t done _anything_ last night to prepare for the day—he hadn’t properly studied, hadn’t mapped his day out, and hadn’t even set his _alarm_ so that he could wake up on time for the quiz he’d been freaking out over.

Luckily, he didn’t wake up _too_ late due to naturally being an early riser, but it doesn’t make him any less panicked because, again, he didn’t _fucking_ study for a quiz he has in a class that starts in _twenty minutes_.

He knows he’s making a great amount of noise as he rushes throughout his room, moving quickly in order to freshen up for the day and change into clothes he didn’t sleep in, so it’s not a surprise that Harry stirs awake.

“Do you have to be so loud…” the boy grumbles, turning over the other way in order to nuzzle his face against the bed sheets.

Louis comes over to him as he hurriedly pulls on some sweatpants, shaking the boy wildly until he has no option but to open his eyes.

“ _Hey_.  Remember how we were supposed to study last night, and we didn’t?” Louis asks, the boy’s eyes heavy and barely open as he stares back at Louis.  “Yeah, I’m kinda freaking out about that.”

He moves back across his room in order to stuff things into his backpack before he has to leave, Harry now sitting up in the bed.

“Wait…why am I here?” the boy asks, his words slow and falling off of his tongue like ice as he rubs at his head. 

“We fell asleep and didn’t get anything done and now I’m going to _fucking_ fail,” Louis says, his voice bordering on angry as he slips his backpack onto his back.  “I’m going to fail, and I can _never_ bounce back from this.  Thanks _so_ much.”

“Wait—why are you blaming _me_?” Harry asks, pulling his leg up underneath him as he furrows his brows.

“Because if you weren’t here, I would’ve actually gotten something _done_!” Louis yells, rubbing his fingers against the crown of his head as pure vexation begins to consume him.  “God, I should’ve fucking known—“

“How’s it _my_ fault that you didn’t stay focused? _I’m_ not in control of your body.  I’m not some miniature person, living in your head and controlling all of your movements with buttons and knobs,” Harry explains, although it takes him a century to get all the words out.

Harry simply talking frustrates Louis to no end as he goes into his closet in search of some shoes to slip on his feet.  “It _is_ your fault, because you’re distracting, and you can never stay _on task_ , and you don’t even _care_ about anything important—God, now I’m gonna have to pay for making such a stupid decision of attempting to _study_ with you—“

“ _Fine_.  You don’t ever have to attempt to do _anything_ with me again, since I’m obviously such a horrible person,” Harry says, now shoving on his shoes just as angrily as Louis.  “You don’t have to be distracted by my annoying ass ever _again_.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t _distracting,_ Harry!” Louis yells, growing fed up with the boy’s sensitive dramatics.  “You are, and it’s not helpful at all.”

“Whatever,” Harry replies dejectedly, grabbing his jacket off of the bed before preparing to leave Louis’ bedroom.  He mutters one last thing on the way out that’s clear enough for Louis to hear.  “Fucking jerk.”

Louis decides not to react to it as he finishes tying each of his shoes, now realizing he has absolutely no idea of where his skateboard is as he looks around the room.

“You look like you're troubled,” he hears from his door as gets down on the ground in order to search for his skateboard underneath his bed

Louis groans once he doesn’t find it, pushing himself up to his feet.  He finds Liam, clad in a university hoodie along with gray sweatpants, with an elbow propped against his doorframe.  The boy’s feet are situated behind the red tape that’s set against the floor, right upon the threshold to Louis’ room. 

“That’s because I _am_ , and I’d love it if you didn’t fucking rub it in,” Louis snaps, now going into his closet to see if it’s buried somewhere in there.

“So seriously?  You’re stressed because of a _quiz_?” the boy asks, proving himself once again to be the king of eavesdropping.  “Nobody gets stressed about those anymore.”

“Just please leave me alone—“

“I have all the answers,” Liam says, letting his elbow down in order to gently press his side against the doorframe.

Louis pauses his act of frantically searching the room as he slowly turns to look at the boy.

“For history.  Every test he’ll ever give this semester, every exam,” Liam continues, his words coming out with a gentle easiness.  “…every _pop_ quiz.”

Louis walks toward him, setting serious eyes on the boy as he speaks.  “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” Liam replies, his lips pulling to one side in half of a grin.  “I have this small… _study_ network with some people, I guess you could call it, and I have the answers to everything.”

“And _why_ would you be telling me this?” Louis asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he grows unimpressed.

Liam shrugs as he continues to press his lips into a tight grin, as though he’s holding something behind them.  “No reason.  Just being a decent flatmate, is all.”

Louis continues to look bored as he tilts his head forward at Liam, not really having the time for mental games.  “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” Liam replies.  “Just text me your email and I’ll send them to you.”

Without another word, he turns away, back to wherever he’d magically emerged from.

Louis knows there’s a catch, but right now, he’s late and on the express lane to a big fat ‘F’, so he’ll take whatever he can.

He’s overwhelmed with relief once he finds that his skateboard is in his car, and he’s out of the parking lot of the complex and on his journey towards campus in a jiffy.

Liam _does_ send him the answers, and they fully come in handy once Louis’ sat in his seat, marking down on his quiz.  Louis even takes the time to verify the few answers that he knows with the ones Liam sent him, and all of them are actually _correct._ Contrary to his slight worry, Liam’s _not_ trying to sabotage his grade. 

It’s also not hard to miss, the fact that Niall’s repeatedly looking over Louis’ shoulder at his paper as he sits beside him.  Louis’ a generous man, and obviously, the boy had come just as unprepared as he did, so he gives the boy a full view of his answers.

Louis feels really good by the end of the quiz, even though he’d rather have aced it with his own _knowledge_ , but he figures he can’t have everything.

Of course, being in a better state of mind and not feeling weighed down by stress and anxiety brings him to his senses a bit…and yeah, he was definitely too harsh on Harry this morning.

He _had_ already sent the answers to Harry once he’d gotten them, even though the boy has the class later on and possesses much more time to study.  He hadn’t gotten a reply, and he just hopes that doesn’t mean anything too bad.

He takes the liberty of asking Niall about the boy once class is over, the both of them walking toward the exit of the building alongside one another.

“Have, um…” Louis starts, messing with the string on the front of his sweatpants as they walk.  “Have you seen Harry today?”

Niall nods his head slowly as he walks with his bag hanging off of one shoulder.  “Yeah.  Why?”

“I dunno…I think I might’ve made him mad,” Louis replies, guilt from the whole situation beginning to flood his insides with every passing second.

“I mean, I haven’t seen _much_ of him—he didn’t even come home last night,” Niall says, looking at Louis for a second, as though the boy knows something he doesn’t. 

“Yeah, he was at mine.  We accidentally fell asleep,” Louis replies.

Niall nods in understanding as he places his hands in the pockets of his white hoodie.  “That makes sense.  Yeah, this morning he just kinda walked in.  Didn’t say anything to anybody and went straight to his room…which I now realize I probably should’ve paid attention to.”

Louis shoves Niall with his elbow, looking disappointedly at the boy.  “ _Niall_.  You’re a horrible friend.”

“Hey, _I’m_ not the one who upset him first thing in the morning,” the boy retorts.

Louis doesn’t have anything to say to that, because it’s true.  When Louis senses impending failure and the fact that things won’t turn out perfectly, he lashes out.   It’s just what he does.  He says a lot of things he doesn’t mean, and he realizes now that it’s seriously something he’s going to have to change about himself.  Harry _is_ distracting, but not in the sour way Louis had spat the word at him—it’s in a _good_ way, and Louis feels he should let the boy know exactly that.

“So, you and Harry…” Niall begins, pushing the door open for both of them as they now enter outside into the cool, sunny campus atmosphere.  “Are you guys…”

Louis looks at the boy and awaits the rest of his sentence, now beginning to wonder why Harry and his friends don’t know how to finish whatever they’re saying.  “What?”

“You guys are…” he begins again, motioning vaguely with his hands as though Louis is supposed to understand.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, mate,” Louis replies, setting a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Both of Niall’s eyebrows rise to his hairline for a moment before he nods repeatedly, patting at Louis’ arm.  “Okay then.  I’ll see you around, bro.”

Louis stands there, not having comprehended anything in the last few seconds as he watches the boy walk the other way.

Now that Louis’ taken the quiz, the only emotion he has left to feel is _regret_.  He feels so _bad_ about what happened with Harry, almost to the point of being emotional.  Harry’s just such a kind and pure soul, and he doesn’t deserve Louis snapping on him just because he was the nearest thing to place blame on.  Louis actually really enjoyed last night—he enjoyed opening up about things he doesn’t really talk too freely about, he enjoyed listening to Harry talk about whatever weird thing went through his mind, and he enjoyed simply having someone _there_.  He enjoys his friend, and he won’t be okay again until he has his forgiveness.

So Louis works on obtaining exactly that once his classes for the day are over, by going to one of the dessert shoppes near his apartment building and purchasing a gourmet cupcake for the boy.  Cupcakes are always a fun time, and Harry’s a sucker for junk food, so Louis figures it’d be a great idea to present the dessert to the boy with a smile and an apology.

He also remembers Harry telling him how the only flavored cake he ever allows himself to eat is chocolate, long ago when Louis had been pretty annoyed by him and the boy just wouldn’t stop _talking_.  Now, Louis’ glad the boy hadn’t stopped talking, because he wouldn’t know what flavor to buy him.

Once Louis’ done with that, he’s en route towards where the boy lives on his skateboard (thanks to Zayn texting him the address without questioning his motives), carrying a fancy, ribbon tied pink box in one of his hands.

The sun has almost gone down by the time he gets there, and he doesn’t know why, but he feels just a bit _nervous_ as he walks up to the floor he’s supposed to be on in order to reach their front door.  He’s just never _dealt_ with an Angry Harry before—he doesn’t know if he’s one of those that’ll just ignore him, or if he’ll throw a drink in his face, or if he’s already forgiven him (this being the best scenario, of course).

There’s a mat outside of the front door that has a giant, rainbow-spectrum colored peace sign on it, and Louis makes a point of tracing it with his shoe as he knocks on the door.

Once the door finally opens after quite some time, Louis’ met with the eyes of Zayn, first staring at his face before they shift down to his box. 

“You shouldn’t have,” Zayn says, almost cooing as he steps aside in order to let Louis in.

“I didn’t,” Louis replies, entering hesitantly as his eyes fall upon the biggest thing in the room.

It’s a trampoline.  There’s a _trampoline_ smack in the middle of their living room (where are the couches?  Tables?), and Niall’s jumping on it while watching television.  Louis doesn’t know why he’s surprised by this, but he is.

“What is this?” Louis asks, stepping towards Niall.

Niall pauses his jumping as he turns his head to the side and finds Louis, bouncing to a slow to stop.  “ _Hey._   You’re in our _house_.  When’d you get here?”

“Just now,” Louis replies.  “Is this really what you guys’ living room consists of?”

Niall shakes his head, laughing amusedly as he watches Louis look around the flat in disbelief.  “No, this is only temporary.  Getting a trampoline has always been on my bucket list!” the boy exclaims with delight, before going back to jumping up and down.  “It’s a rental though.  I’m not rich.”

“Did you finally get tired of Liam and decide to move in?” Zayn asks, coming up behind Louis and setting his chin on his shoulder.

Louis gestures at Niall, the boy noisily jumping up and down as his eyes now glue themselves to the massive television.  “I don’t think I could live with this.”

“Sure you can,” Zayn replies.  “I’ll even volunteer to trade spots with you.  Live there while you live here.”

Louis turns around, bringing Zayn to remove his chin from his shoulder as he looks at him.

“Zayn.  Liam is not human.  Liam does not know what feelings are,” he says, setting a gentle hand on Zayn’s cheek.  “He doesn’t have emotions, and I just really don’t want you to get discouraged once you realize that.”

“Oh, _Louis_ ,” Zayn says with a sigh, stepping around the boy as he wraps a warm arm around him.  “Naïve, simple-minded Louis.  Every human soul is capable of emotion.  Some people just need a certain thing…or a certain _someone_ to tap into that part of themselves.  I believe Liam is in need of someone—I can _feel_ it whenever I step into your flat.  And I will make it my plan to tap into that part of him.”

“Give him six days _tops_ , he’ll forget all about it,” Niall laughs, half-listening as his eyes stay on the television and his feet continue to spring him off of the elastic surface of the trampoline.  “Just like he forgets about all his other little obsessions.”

Louis shakes his head as he lets out a heavy sigh.  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” is the last thing he has to say on the subject.  “Now where’s Harry?”

Zayn’s eyebrows draw together as he thinks about it for a moment, continuing to hold Louis under the embrace of his arm.  “I actually…don’t know.”

“He’s not in his room?” Louis asks with slight concern.

Zayn shakes his head.  “Nope.  He was here for a bit, but then he left out and hasn’t come back since.”

“Does he not have work today?” Niall asks, his face showing slight puzzlement.

“No, I was talking to him all day yesterday and he told me he didn’t,” Louis replies, trying to ignore the bubbling amount of worry beginning to grow in his chest.

It seems like Zayn senses it, because he shifts in order to move both of his hands to Louis’ shoulders, fixing warm, easy eyes on him so as to soothe him out of his apprehensive state.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Zayn says softly.

Louis shakes his head as he scratches his fingernails against his chin, holding tightly onto the box with his other hand.  “No—no, I _need_ to know where he is.  If he went and did something crazy, it’s probably _my fault_ and—“

“ _Listen_ ,” Zayn says, one of his thumbs stroking at where Louis’ jaw meets his cheek.  “He’s not like that.  Sometimes he goes to the daycare center when he doesn’t have to, especially if he’s in a bad mood.  You might wanna check there.”

Louis nods slowly, attempting to focus on the serenity of both Zayn’s eyes and his smooth tone of voice in order to simmer. 

Louis does exactly that once he bids both Niall and Zayn a goodbye, and he texts Harry on the way down the stairs from his flat just to make sure before he drives there. 

He gets nothing in response—not once as he’s skateboarding all the way back home, not as he’s getting into his car, and certainly not on the drive there.

This only makes the fact that he _does_ end up finding the boy at the daycare center all the more alleviating, and he swears that as soon as he sees him, an ocean wave of relief washes over him.

The boy doesn’t see _him_ because he’s busy sitting at one of the tables, helping Ayden with his math homework, but Louis stands there by the door, his back pressed against the wall as he holds the box in his hands and waits patiently for him not to be busy.

He ends up standing there for several minutes, having to slide out of the way a bit for parents who are picking up their children, but it doesn’t bother him at all.  He’s had to have this situation dangling over his head for practically the entire day, and he refuses to leave until he makes it right. 

Harry finally sees him when he has to stand up from the table in order to fetch Ayden’s lunchbox from a separate room once it seems his mother has come to pick him up, and he pauses on the journey there once his eyes fall upon Louis.

They hold gaze for a moment from opposite sides of the room before Harry simply continues toward the room he’d been trying to get to, and Louis immediately steps away from the wall as he moves in order to follow him.

He slips into the door right before it closes, finding Harry looking into a mini fridge for Ayden’s lunchbox.

“What, did you come to yell at me again?” Harry asks as he finally pulls it out.  “Blame your unhappiness on me some more?”

“ _No_ ,” Louis answers, shaking his head quickly as he steps up to Harry and extends the decorative box out toward him.  “I came to say sorry.  That was so stupid and insensitive of me, and I apologize.”

Harry casts his eyes down upon the gift, and Louis can tell the boy wants to smile—he _knows_ he does, because he can see it in the corners of his lips, and it causes him to begin to smile himself.

“C’mon, you know you want it,” Louis says, nudging it toward him a little.  “It’s _chocolate_.”

Harry lifts a hand, lazily flicking at the ribbon tied at the top of it as he snickers lightly.  “It even has a little bow on it.”

Louis smiles widely as he watches Harry’s gradually changing facial expression.  “Yep, it does.”

Harry takes it out of his hands as he sets Ayden’s lunchbox on the counter by the sink, finally allowing himself to fully curve his lips upward with happiness.  “Thanks.”

“I just want you to know, I really _do_ appreciate you,” Louis says, keeping his gaze set on Harry so that the boy will be able to grasp the sincerity of his words.  “I was just in a mood, and I don’t think rationally when I’m in a mood.”  He grabs a tender hold of Harry’s wrist, because the boy is looking down and not at him, and he can’t have that right now.  “I don’t think of you as just some annoying pest.  I _enjoy_ our friendship more than anything.”

Harry nods slowly, keeping eye contact with Louis for just a few more seconds before looking down at the box and laughing dryly.  “Our friendship.  Right,” he says with sort of a negative tone, which throws Louis off a bit as he knits his eyebrows together.

“Are…are we _not_ friends at this point, or…?” Louis asks confusedly.  “Because it was my understanding that we were.”

“No, we are,” Harry says, bringing his eyes back up as he presses his lips together in a firm grin, his fingers working to undo the ribbon on top of the box.  “I was just…talking, as usual." 

Louis laughs in response, joining his hands together in front of him as Harry works to open the box, carefully removing the lid off of it.  His manuevers are slow, almost as though he’s attempting to build suspense as Louis watches his hands move—

Which probably explains why, as soon as he takes the cupcake out of the box, he slowly brings it to Louis’ face, smushing it into the side of his cheek thoroughly and relentlessly.

“Yep.  I definitely deserve this,” Louis says, feeling a bit of icing go up his nose as Harry continues to smear the dessert around with no remorse.

Harry finally removes it from his cheek, setting the ruined thing down by the sink next to him as he fully laughs at the sight of Louis’ face, now painted with whipped-cream icing.  “You definitely do,” the boy replies, before licking some icing off of his own fingers.

Louis extends a hand out toward him, shockingly not finding himself too angry about the mess on his face.  “We’re cool again?” he asks.

Harry nods, reaching out in order to clasp hands with the boy.  “Sure,” he says, before unexpectedly using their attached hands to pull Louis into a hug, his arms wrapped over the boy’s shoulders and across his back.

Louis raises his eyebrows before eventually returning the hug, slowly bringing his hands up to rub at the boy’s back as he buries his nose in the boy’s shoulder, moving his face around a little for revenge.

“You’re rubbing it in my shirt, aren’t you?” Harry asks.

“Yep,” Louis mumbles into the fabric of his clothing.

Once Louis gets cleaned up, he gladly spends the rest of the night with Harry, from when the last child gets picked up at the daycare center, all the way up until he drops the boy off in front of his apartment building, and he couldn’t be happier about his decision to fight in order to keep the boy as a positive constant in his life.

 

~*~

 

“No you didn’t,” Louis says with a sigh, not even offering Zayn a thorough reaction as he takes another sip out of his coffee.

The boy has just informed Louis that he’d successfully gotten Liam to agree to a movie date, which is a complete and total _lie_.  First, Harry lying about knowing how to put his foot behind his head, and now _this_? 

“Yes I _did_ ,” Zayn replies.

“And how exactly did you manage to do that?” Louis asks, blinking at Zayn as he awaits his answer.

“I saw him on campus while I was with Harry, and I just approached him,” Zayn says with a shrug.  “I didn’t even have the chance to get the full question out before he told me to be there on Friday at ten.”  His eyes wander upward, as though he’s daydreaming about something as they glisten and sparkle.  “He’s just…he’s so assertive and _demanding_ —“

“ _Please_ ,” Louis interrupts, putting a hand up in order to halt him.  “I really don’t want to throw up my coffee and deprive myself of all the caffeine I need for today.”

“But I’m telling you,” Zayn says, setting his hand on the surface of the table.  “All you have to do is ask him, and you’ll find out I’m telling the truth.”

“You know I don’t talk to him,” Louis replies.  “The only time I ever do is when Harry comes over and forces him into our conversations.”

He _can_ admit, he’s exceedingly thankful for the fact that Liam had helped him out when he’d thought there was nothing but failure in his future in regards to the history quiz.  Louis supposes he should get around to thanking him for that sometime.

It takes quite a while for Louis to notice that Zayn’s profusely staring at him over his mug as they sit across from each other.  It’s not his regular prying, hazy-eyed stare, but it’s much more observant and heedful, as though he’s watching closely for something.

Louis’ taking a nonchalant sip out of his cup, just a few seconds from uttering a “what” before Zayn finally opens his mouth.

“Are you and Harry dating?”

Immediately, Louis goes into a coughing fit, some of the liquid flying out of his mouth as he beats at his chest with his fist and wonders if Zayn had asked what he’d _thought_ Zayn had asked.

“Excuse me?” Louis asks, hardly having gasped for air yet.

Zayn’s eyes get just a bit bigger as he sits up, as though he’s realized something very quickly.  “I’m—I was just asking.”

“I _know_ , and I’m just _wondering_ why you would think that,” Louis replies, his stare relentless as he locks with Zayn’s now wandering eyes.

“I mean—I thought…I dunno,” Zayn says, quickly bringing his mug up to his lips in order to avoid the topic.

“Is Harry…” Louis begins, biting down on his lip for a moment as he leans in closer to Zayn, as though sharing something confidential.  “Is Harry gay?”

Zayn sets his mug down, blinking heavily at Louis for a while as they simply stare at each other, life continuing to move around them in the coffee shop.  “How do you not know that, man?  Everyone does.”

Louis gapes for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as he laughs with disbelief, sufficiently displaying a wide array of emotions.  “Uh—everyone but _me_ , obviously.”

Zayn shakes his head slowly as he closes his eyes, letting out a gradual, slow breath.  “Just, please don’t—don’t make this into a big deal.  I thought he’d told you.”

“Well he _didn’t_ ,” Louis replies, feeling absolutely betrayed as a strained feeling comes about in his chest.  “So much for thinking we were close.”

Zayn seems defeated as he messes with the flowery pattern on his mug, seemingly keeping his mouth zipped shut as though he’s said too much, which doesn’t make sense.  If everyone apparently knows about this, then why would it need to be kept from Louis?

It doesn’t change anything, of course.  At the very first coffee he and Zayn had shared, the boy had almost instantly informed Louis ( _after_ letting him know he had his sights set on Liam) that he was fluid in all of his “sexual endeavors”, and Louis hadn’t had a single problem with it, so he definitely wouldn’t have a problem with it in regards to Harry.

He can’t help but feel that Harry probably thinks he _would_ , which bothers him a great amount.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> niall is a horrible confidant.

 

 

The gentle hum of the music floating from the radio set up in the corner of the room mocks Harry as he finds himself buried under cardboard, as well as a pile of irritation.

Harry’s defeatedly on the ground in the storage room of the daycare center, the pressure of his knees against the floor mildly painful now that the large box of props and costumes has fallen onto him, covering the entirety of his body.

He sighs, feeling worn out at the moment because he’s already had a long day (Ted definitely is starting to buckle down a bit at work), he hasn’t consumed anything sweet in three hours, and not even once today has he seen—

Harry feels the box being lifted off of him as he remains on the ground, and he turns around, his gaze moving from the laces on the boy’s shoes, all the way up until he meets the blues of his eyes.

“Louis,” Harry says happily.  “You’re here.”

Louis sets the box down on the ground before helping in order to pick everything up, Harry moving right along with him.  “Told you I’d be.”

There’s supposed to be a large play happening today at the daycare center where all the different age groups in the many different rooms come together for a show put on by many of the caregivers and volunteers.  It’s a lot of set up, what with preparing snacks, getting costumes together, putting up scenes and decorations, and Louis had volunteered to help Harry out with it.  Clearly, he’d stuck to his word, which is why Harry’s wondrous eyes continue to drift toward him with admiration as they clean everything up.

Harry’d thought the whole play would just be a fun, cute thing, but everyone’s taking it very seriously for some reason.  Harry didn’t even get a solid _part_ in the whole thing because apparently, he’s not a very convincing actor, which sucked at first, but now that everything’s so hectic and he’s on the verge of quitting altogether and taking a nap, it doesn’t suck so much.

“Did they finally decide on a play?” Louis asks, stuffing the last of the items into the box and wiping his hands off on his jeans.

“The Princess and the Frog,” Harry replies, both of them taking a moment to look pointedly at each other, Louis’ face shifting with disapproval as the sound of some talk show host becomes evident from the low-volume radio in the room.

“Wow.  You should be glad they rejected you for a role,” Louis replies, getting up to his feet and lifting one side of the cardboard box.

Harry’s dimples are put on display as he grins, knowing Louis’ just attempting to make him feel better as he comes over to grip the other side of the box.  “Exactly.  But even the award-winning actors got rejected at some point.”

Louis shakes his head, getting his hands up under the box as they successfully secure a hold on it and begin to back out of the room.

As soon as they enter into the hallway, one of the head supervisors, Mary, is coming towards them, a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other.  She stops them before they can go any further, prompting them to put the box down as she strenuously searches through it for something that seems urgent.

“ _Crowns_ ,” she says, before turning her eyes toward Louis, and then Harry.  “There’s no _crowns_?”

Harry scratches at his arm for a moment, knitting his eyebrows together as his lips part.  “I—didn’t see any—“

“ _God_ , how could we forget about the most important thing?” she asks, mostly to herself as she rubs a hand against the side of her head, messing up her stringy brown hair.

Harry crouches down, setting a gentle hand on her back as she continues to seemingly crumble under the pressure of something that’s not even supposed to be this stressful.

“Hey.  I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Harry says, his voice low.  “Just.  Make paper crowns, or something—“

“Are you _crazy_?” she asks, her head snapping towards him and his eyes growing wide as he lets his hand down.  He can hear the faint sound of Louis struggling to hold in an enormous laugh.

The woman is full-on looking at him, as though expecting him to seriously answer the question.

Harry slowly shakes his head, his mouth opening with hesitance.  “No…I’m.  I’m not—“

“When does the play start?” Louis asks, sufficiently shifting her attention as she stands back up.

She places her hands on her hips as she looks at the boy with stern eyes.  “An _hour.”_

“I can get some crowns for you, since obviously, they’re vital to the success of the show,” Louis says, already reaching into his pocket for his car keys. 

Mary steps forward eagerly, taking his free hand in both of her palms as though he’s a king among men.  “Really?  That’s _great_.  You’ll be back in time?”

“Of course,” Louis nods, to which Mary thanks him a thousand times before taking the box out of their hands, surprisingly lifting it all on her own as she continues hurriedly down the hallway.

Harry steps toward Louis, messing with the sleeves of his jacket as he looks at the boy.  “You really don’t have to—“

“Nope, I do,” Louis replies, before turning around and starting toward the exit of the building, Harry blindly following behind him.  “Because I know _just_ the place to get some.  For _free_.”

“Really?  Where?” Harry asks, pushing through the exit door and holding it open for Louis.

Louis pauses once he joins Harry outside the building, the sky dark around them and the moon somewhere hidden behind the clouds.

“My _mum’s_ house,” he says, almost excitedly as he grins at Harry.

He’s starting toward his car before Harry can even properly react, even though dozens of thoughts are flying through his head right now and he has a sudden urge to ask many questions.

“Your mum _lives_ near here?” he asks, Louis’ car beeping once the boy presses the button to unlock it.

Louis rounds his car where it’s parked on the curb, getting ready to climb into the driver’s seat.  “It’s like a twenty minute drive, but yeah.”

Harry’s paused for a moment where he stands by the passenger door, looking at Louis over the compact car and suddenly feeling a shred of uncertainty.

“Do you want me to come?” Harry asks, his words reluctant.

Louis doesn’t miss a beat before answering.  “Sure,” he says, pulling his door open and sliding in.

Harry figures he shouldn’t waste any more time standing there with a dumb look on his face, especially since everything is so time-sensitive right now, so he pulls his door open as well, getting into the passenger seat and instantly relishing in the feeling of familiarity that now comes with being in Louis’ car.

Louis starts up the engine, and suddenly Harry doesn’t know what to do with his hands.  He decides on resting them flat against his thighs, and then he changes his mind and plays around with the cuffs on his jacket, and then he makes the choice of leaning his elbow against the window and resting his head on his fist.

“What?  No music?” Louis asks, turning to look at Harry briefly as he advances down the road and rotates the wheel with one hand.

Harry sits up in his seat, moving sort of mechanically, and he has no idea why he’s not allowing himself to be fully _comfortable_ right now.  He pulls his phone out of his back pocket in order to connect his phone to the sound system, and there’s this sort of… _weird_ atmosphere that’s come about in the car.  It’s not one that Harry isn’t used to, however.

Even though it’s Harry that’s acting weird right now, Louis had been the one that’d been seemingly…out of it lately.  He’s been acting a bit off, not looking at Harry completely when he speaks, looking at him _very_ closely when they’re not speaking, and overall just not effortlessly being himself, as though there’s some type of imaginary barrier that’s been put up between them recently.  There are several moments where he completely forgets about that barrier and lets go all the way, but it only lasts for a short period of time before it seems as though something clicks within him, and he reverts back to his previous, strange state.  Harry doesn’t know what’s caused this, but he just has to hope it has nothing to do with him.

They reach Louis’ mother’s house quicker than Harry had expected, which does nothing for the unwelcome set of nerves that seem to have found a home in his stomach.  He doesn’t even know _why_ he’s nervous, for goodness’ sake. 

From the outside, the house seems relatively nice—it’s one of those medium-sized, objectively pretty suburban homes, which helps just a little in aiding Harry to become more comfortable.

He’s still not entirely settled though, because from experience, he knows that just because a house looks homely, doesn’t mean it actually is.

Louis uses one of the several keys attached to the one for his car in order to get the front door open.

“Isn’t your mum gonna like, think someone’s breaking in?” Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head as he chuckles, finally getting the door to open.  “Eh, she’s usually not even home around this time anyway.”

Harry chooses to take his word for it as they enter, the tension in his body slowly but surely beginning to find its way out.

Once he steps inside, he doesn’t know what to think. 

The floors are wooden and shiny as his shoes come down upon them, and everything, from the perfect coats of white-grayish paint on the walls to the few precisely angled family portraits hanging up, seems so _polished_.  It seems like someone’s just moved in—definitely not like someone’s been living here.

“C’mon,” Louis says, pulling Harry by his arm as though there’s no time to waste (probably because there isn’t).

He pulls Harry past what looks like the den as they make their way towards the back of the pristine house, and after getting through a narrow hallway, Louis’ opening one of the small doors at the end of it.

Harry watches him crawl inside what he assumes is a storage closet, and he gets down on his knees and peeks his head inside just a bit in order to make sure the boy doesn’t get attacked by spiders, or raccoons, or demons.  Dark home storage rooms have always been one of Harry’s weird fears.

He watches as the boy crawls substantially far into the narrow place, almost unseen by Harry as he submerges himself in the darkness at the end of it.

“Scream if you get attacked by spiders,” Harry says, raising his voice so he can be heard.  “I promise I’ll come in and save you.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Louis calls back, now vaguely looking and sounding as though he’s rummaging through something.

“Why do you _have_ crowns by the way?  I forgot to ask.”

“Elizabeth used to do lots of dress up when she was younger,” Louis replies, followed by a grunt as he seems to be digging into a pile of stuff.

Harry rubs his knuckles against his thighs as he remains where he is, a grin creeping onto his lips as he thinks about it.  “Did you ever do it with her?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” Louis answers.

“I can imagine you demanding to be the princess,” Harry says.

“Nope, that wasn’t allowed.”

The subtle delight on Harry’s face is instantly vanished in a second as he processes Louis’ words, and he fixes his mouth in order to vehemently question him about the implications of that sentence—but someone appears at the end of the hallway that he notices out of the corner of his eye.

Harry immediately stands up, dusting himself off as he now becomes pretty certain of the fact that he’s looking at Louis’ mother, a shocked, but pleasantly surprised look upon her face as she stares back at him.  She’s wearing what looks like a sports jacket, paired with matching gray trackies and tennis shoes, as though she’d just gotten back from exercising.

“Hi,” Harry says, attempting to sound cordial enough for the unexpected occasion.  “I’m just here…with Louis.”

Her smile grows even wider as she walks forth, her eyes bright and her arms already open for Harry.

“He didn’t even tell me he was _coming_ ,” she whines, now caressing the back of Harry’s head in her hand as they hug in greeting.  She keeps a hand braced on his arm once they pull away from each other, Harry immediately taking notice of how unmistakably similar the animated vibrancy of her eyes are to her son’s.  “What’s your name, dear?”

“Harry,” he replies easily.

She grins at him warmly, slowly nodding as she appears to grow even fonder of him than she’d already been.  “That’s a lovely name.”

She gives him two last pats on the shoulder before crouching down to where Harry’d originally been kneeled, tilting her head into the storage room before shouting at the boy.

“Louis, why didn’t you tell me you were going to _be_ here?” she asks, making sure the hurt is evident in her tone.  “Did you not want to see me?”

It seems Louis is making his way back down as the shuffling of his moving knees sound throughout the wall.

His mother stands to her feet as she backs away from the entrance, crossing her arms over her chest disappointedly as Louis emerges with two bronze, bejeweled crowns.  They look so authentic it’s almost unnerving.

“Because I was only gonna pick these up and then head back out,” Louis says, reaching out in order to pull his mother into a one armed hug.  He faces Harry for a moment, gesturing between them as he blinks profusely.  “Mum, Harry.  Harry, mum.”

“We’ve already met,” Harry answers proudly.

“Well this has been nice,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows as he flashes his mother a sweet grin.  “But we have to go.”

“Wait— _wait_ ,” she says, and before Harry knows it, she’s grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him down the hallway, Louis muttering a useless “oh my _God_ ” in frustration as he stays behind.

Harry has absolutely no idea of what’s going on as he’s being pulled into one of the random rooms in the hall, but he knows Louis’ obviously not too much in favor of it.

It seems to be a bedroom, and it’s the same pristine, clean-cut environment as every other place in the house, with the queen sized bed nicely made, the floor vacuumed to perfection, and the fragrances on top of the dresser lined up in a way that’s pleasing to the eye.

“He _hates_ when I show people this picture,” his mother says, now releasing his wrist as she points at some framed photograph that rests on top of the dresser.  “So I show it to everyone that comes in.”

It’s a picture of Louis.  One where he’s _much_ younger, probably around ten or eleven years old, and it seems to be some kind of children’s photo shoot, because it has an artsy green background and he’s unenthusiastically hugging a giant brown teddy bear close to his body.  It seems he’s not too thrilled about participating in the photo shoot, what with him looking as though he’s too old for caressing this giant teddy bear, but still, there’s something so special and just _innocent_ about the picture.  Almost as though it’s artistic.  To Harry, it’s a perfectly accurate portrayal of who Louis generally is as a person, because even as a young boy, looking so uncooperative and disinterested, Harry can see the cute little smile begging to appear as his lips poke at his full cheeks.

“Why would he hate _this_?  It’s adorable,” Harry says, giggling as they both stare at it with huge eyes.

“Can we please not?” Louis begs, the boy now stood by the door to the bedroom as he taps his foot.

“He’s even got his cute little hat on,” his mother coos, poking at the glass of the picture where the boy has a comically large, crimson red hat on to match his overalls.

Harry takes much enjoyment out of gawking at it as Louis now shields his face while he stands by the door, waiting for it all to be over.

“You should’ve seen him at this age.  He was so charming and animated, always jumping around for no reason,” his mother laughs, her eyes glowing with admiration as she seems to reminisce about it.  “He used to have all the girls _swooning_ over him.”

Harry chews on his bottom lip in response to that for a moment, not quite knowing why it causes him to feel this certain…feeling that he definitely doesn’t want to take the time to analyze.  Jesus, the boy was a _child_ —can his dramatics calm down?

Louis huffs in annoyance, removing his hand from his face as he gives his mother a look from across the room.  It only takes a few seconds for the boy to switch into authoritarian mode as he walks over, gripping Harry’s wrist. 

Harry doesn’t know why, but he’s suddenly aware of how much he’s been grabbed in just the last few minutes.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun.  Now we _really_ have to go,” Louis says, offering his mother his cheek, which she then kisses briefly as she rubs at his shoulder. 

Even though she’s clearly trying to make fun of him and poke at what she’s aware will annoy him, Harry knows it’s all love, because he can see it behind the adoration in her eyes, in the way Louis bites back a smile as he says goodbye, and he can’t help but wonder how that type of relationship feels.

They’re out of the house after another few minutes of his mother elongating their goodbye, speaking hurriedly to him about calling and making sure he checks the stove before he goes to sleep and asking about whether there’s enough food in his fridge.  Harry’s envious of all of it, the way she just blatantly cares—she doesn’t even ask about school _once_ , which confirms Harry’s theory that all of Louis’ strict values and high standards are derived from whatever had happened on his _father’s_ part.

The ride back is easier now that the comforting presence of Louis’ mother has aided in pushing them towards a warmer state, but Harry’s doing a lot of thinking while he’s rested in the passenger seat, blinking out of the window.

He wants her words to stop repeating in his head, because they shouldn’t mean anything, but he just can’t get them to.

_He used to have all the girls swooning over him._

He’s getting that same unnamed _feeling_ he’d gotten when Liam had abruptly brought up that girl that Louis had supposedly done some unspecified, but clearly intimate _things_ with. 

Harry’s not going to lie.  Right now, he’s really banking on the fact that Louis is bisexual.  Or pansexual.  Or any of the various valid sexualities that involve him possibly being attracted to guys.  Please.

But it’s not because he _likes_ him or anything.  It would just…make him more comfortable.  Yeah.  That works.

But every time Louis’ brought up in relation to some girl or he makes some heteronormative comment, Harry’s hopeful nature decreases bit by bit, and it causes him to feel way more devastation than he probably should.  Because by now, he’s in deep.  Like, really deep.  And he doesn’t know _exactly_ what’s going on with his insides, but he does know that they don’t like the idea of Louis not being attracted to guys.  For whatever reason.  Harry’s not sure yet.

Harry’s just curious.  Maybe he’ll find out one of these days.

He’s (im)patiently waiting for the day to come when he’ll find out the answer, while at the same time being frightened by the possibility knowing. 

Once they get back to the daycare center, everyone’s rushing about, and both Louis and Harry get swooped right into the tornado of preparation, helping endlessly to set up the theater in the tiny auditorium with the different cardboard scenes and decorations, while at the same time working in shifts in order to watch the kids in the rooms.

During _their_ shift of watching the kids, Louis’ attempting to acquire control of the little ones that want to run around and poke at things, while Harry’s passing out crayons to whichever ones _haven’t_ been made overly hyper because of the excitement of the day and are opting to do what everyone’s _supposed_ to be doing, which is coloring pretty pictures.

“ _Nope_ —no Maddie, you’re not supposed to touch that,” Harry hears the boy say from where he’s sprawled out on the rug, opposite side of the room from Harry.  Harry looks over to find Maddie messing around with one of the boxes of costume items that’s presumably been accidentally left behind, and she doesn’t take Louis’ orders into consideration even a little as she laughs and almost falls inside of it.

“This’ll look pretty on you!” she giggles, placing what looks like a dress-up veil for a bride on his head.

Harry begins to grin as he watches, but he doesn’t get to fully enjoy the innocent sight before he hears the treacherous sound of some child dropping their cup off of the edge of one of the coloring tables, followed by the sound of liquid spilling onto the ground.

Harry turns around in order to tend to the mess, which he finds to be a large, thick puddle of purple grape juice, the girl who sits next to it wearing wide eyes and noticeable guilt.

Harry sighs, setting an arm down against the back of her chair as he crouches down next to her.  “What happened to your _other_ cup?  The one that doesn’t spill?”

“That’s for _babies_ ,” she replies, her eyes beginning to water and Harry beginning to regret ever saying anything.  “I didn’t know it would spill!”

“No.  Don’t cry,” Harry says, shaking his head as he furrows his brows with concern.  “We’ll just clean it up, and—“

The sound of abrupt sobbing fills the air, causing Harry to let out a heavy breath before turning his head, finding that Francis (the sensitive one (although it seems _everyone_ is sensitive today)) has accidentally fallen and hurt his knee while running across the rug. 

Hurt knee, grape juice spill.  Harry’s not sure which one is more important—that is, until he takes into consideration the fact that a wet floor could result in even _more_ hurt knees.  He springs up from where he is on the ground, intent to get some paper towels from the bathroom in order to clean up this mess—

He doesn’t expect to bump into Louis once he immediately turns around.

“Band-aids are in the lunchbox room, right?” Louis asks, the boy tilting his head as he looks up at Harry.  “Top left cabinet?”

Harry only concentrates halfheartedly on what he’s saying, because the boy’s still wearing the wedding veil in his hair as it flows behind his head, and he probably doesn’t even know it because of all the running around he’s doing.

“Yes,” Harry replies.  “And I’m really feeling this new look you’ve got going on.”

Louis stares at him with question, before placing a hand in his hair and realizing what Harry’s referring to.  He shakes his head as he moves past Harry, patting him on the shoulder with a playful “fuck off”.

Harry turns his body around as his eyes follow the boy.  “Fuck _me_ ,” he mutters under his breath, the boy not having even a slight possibility of hearing him as he continues across the floor towards the lunchbox room.

Harry shakes his head back to life once the boy disappears into the room, bringing himself out of his dazed trance as he moves on quick feet in order to obtain napkins so that he can clean this mess of liquid (that’s now spread quite substantially).

As he finally gets around to wiping down the floor, he finds that Louis’ on the other side of the room, tenderly treating Francis to a band-aid over the scar on his knee, the boy’s weeping now reduced to mere sniffles and forceful rubs of his eyes.

Harry watches for a moment, not even aware of how he’s now wiping a perfectly clean surface continuously as he keeps his gaze set on the way Louis ruffles up Francis’ hair in order to let him know it’s okay, before quietly inviting the boy to join the rest of the hyper kids in playing a game of “Red Light, Green Light”.

Louis is so…wonderful.  He really is, and Harry doesn’t even think he knows it, which is unacceptable.

Harry brushes the thought away, looking down at the exceedingly polished surface of the white floor underneath him where he can now faintly see his reflection.

And yep, he definitely looks like a sprung, lovesick puppy.

 

~*~

 

The play goes well.  It goes above and beyond that actually—all of the parents of each and every child come out to watch, the kids react to every scene with enthusiastic sounds and clapping hands, and even Niall, Zayn, and (his boyfriend?) Liam come to watch, because it’s a Friday night and they claim they have nothing better to do.  They sit in the very back row of the auditorium and aren’t exactly successful in their attempts at staying quiet during the “serious” parts.

Louis sits towards the front, next to Harry, still wearing the wedding veil on his head and absolutely being to blame for Harry randomly grinning with joy every few seconds.  He’d tried to take it off a while ago, but Maddie had pestered him relentlessly until he’d put it back on, and it seems that now he’s once again forgotten about it.

It’s _after_ the play when things get hectic once again, but it seems as though the exhaustion is getting to Harry more than it is Louis, because the boy is walking around with light feet and effortless smiles, not even a single stress line anywhere to be seen on his face.

They both end up back in the storage room, carrying out their last task of the night by lifting the large box back into its place on one of the shelves—and this time Harry _doesn’t_ drop it on top of himself.

“Well _that’s_ over,” Harry says, wiping his hands off.

The radio continues to play, the slow music full of static as the low beam lights inside the room make Harry grow sleepy.

“It was fun though,” Louis says, resting a hand against one of the shelves as he smiles, still unaware of the gracefully flowing headgear he has on.  “Never knew a simple children’s play could be so professional and dynamic.”

Harry wholeheartedly agrees, biting back a grin as he leans against the shelves as well.  Louis’ smiling freely, he’s kicking his feet around with the casualty of a little kid, and Harry knows that right now, he’s forgotten about that barrier.  His invisible shield is nonexistent, which is why he doesn’t react outlandishly when Harry grabs a hold of his hand, lifting it up in the air and gently spinning him around to the slow, jazzy vocals now emerging from the old speakers of the radio.

“What is this?” Louis giggles, allowing himself to be twirled.

“This is us dancing,” Harry says, pushing himself off of the shelf and standing up straight in order to bring Louis in close to him by the pull of his hand.  He brings his other hand up, sliding it onto the boy’s shoulder as they get into a proper slow dance position.

Louis doesn’t seem to question it, instead offering another one of his addictive giggles as he slides his hand behind Harry’s back in return, falling right into Harry’s lead as they step slowly to the quiet static of the music being played on the late night radio broadcast.

Harry laughs quietly under his breath as their palms remain gently pressed against one another.  “Knew I’d get you to dance with me.”

Louis doesn’t respond in words, only using the usual fond shake of his head and the slight scrunch of his nose as he attempts to contain his grin in order to communicate with Harry. The boy’s hand against his back moves little by little, stretching across the length of his waist gradually as they continue to hold each other, and then—it almost seems as though the boy is going to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder, which Harry’s certainly not prepared for. 

He becomes hyperaware of his racing heart as Louis’ head sort of shifts to the side in order to find comfort in Harry’s shoulder, and Harry just has to gently close his eyes and hope Louis doesn’t sense how unjustly panicked he is.

The contact between the side of Louis’ head and Harry’s shoulder doesn’t come, however, because it seems that a certain emotion clicks within Louis.  The weird one, that had been preventing things from being fully comfortable as of recently.

The boy sharply picks his head back up, his hand stiffening where it’s barely reached the side of Harry’s waist.

“Harry?” the boy asks, and the mere tone of his voice heightens Harry’s panic, because there’s a lingering, worried feel to it. 

Harry doesn’t show how wildly gears are turning in his head, instead just raising a brow as he looks back at the boy.  “Hmm?”

Louis’ breath is loud as he takes air in, clearly having to take a moment to organize whatever it is he has to say.  His eyes are shifty; he’s looking everywhere _but_ Harry right now (which has become pretty common), and they’ve completely stopped swaying to the music.

Louis exhales, staring at Harry’s shoulder with slight concentration before he finally says something.  “I’m gonna get you back for laughing at me earlier, I hope you know.”

Harry laughs, his fingers gently brushing against the side of Louis’ neck as his arm remains braced on his shoulder.  “At least now I know to expect it,” he replies.

He knows that’s definitely not what Louis had been planning on saying, but he plays along anyway, intent not to pay too much attention to it so that whatever uncomfortable cloud has come over the both of them can just _go away_ already.

“We should probably go now, though,” Louis says, finally releasing Harry’s hand as he takes a step back, and yep.  There it is.

He rubs his hands together hesitantly as he creates some distance between him and Harry while still attempting to force a crooked smile onto his face.  “The rest of them are probably waiting on us.  They’d mentioned something about going out afterward.”

And with that, he brings a hand to the back of his head in order to slide the veil off, placing it on the nearest shelf before backing out of the room with a nod and leaving out.

Harry stands there for only a few more seconds, even though those seconds feel endlessly long now that he’s alone, staring at the empty space where Louis once stood in front of him. He brings his hands up to his cheeks for a moment, squishing his own face and moving his skin around in order to get himself to _fucking_ snap out of it and stop being so inquisitive and worried and _annoying_.

He successfully gets himself together for those few seconds before he leaves out of the room as well, following right in Louis’ footsteps.

 

~*~

 

They end up at some eatery that specializes in tacos of many different variations.  At first the idea of it seems excessive and a bit absurd, but once they’re actually _there_ and Harry has experienced the tasteful wonders of a macaroni taco, he swallows whatever criticism he’d initially had about the place.

Everything seems much easier once he and Louis are surrounded by people, because they’re able to whisper effortless jokes under their breath at every little thing that happens, they’re sat right next to each other and within reach of natural, playful shoving, and the eventful revelry of the night has made everything so endlessly comfortable that the boy doesn’t seem to be too self-conscious about anything anymore.

“Okay, so what _is_ this?” Louis asks at some point, both of his elbows set on the table as he gestures at Liam and Zayn, who are sat across from him.

Zayn has had both hands latched onto one of Liam’s arms for pretty much the entirety of the _night_ (yes, even during the play), as well as his head gently nestled in the boy’s shoulder as his eyes remain blissfully closed, and Liam hasn’t reacted negatively to it in the slightest, instead completely allowing it and even ignoring the fact that it’s happening.

“What d’you mean?” Liam asks, reaching toward the center of the table and digging into the bowl of tortilla chips they’d all shared as an appetizer.  Zayn continues to remain rested against his shoulder, and he could even be _sleeping_ for all everyone knows. 

“You can’t just…all of a sudden show up like this and not expect me to question it,” Louis says, looking at the boy incredulously.

“Don’t,” Liam replies in the midst of chewing diligently on his tortilla chip.  “It’s none of your business.”

Louis smacks his teeth as he rests his knuckles against the table.  “Actually it is, because Zayn’s my best friend, and—“

He doesn’t even get to finish the sentence before Harry’s nudging at him with his shoulder, his mouth completely open as he drowns the boy in his thoroughly offended facial expression.

Louis blinks a bit before gently setting a hand against Harry’s arm and correcting himself.  “ _One_ of my best friends—“

He doesn’t get another word out before there’s another implicit message from Harry as he noticeably clears his throat, and he doesn’t have to even look at Louis to know the boy gets the point.

 _“Second_ best friend,” Louis corrects himself once again.  “And I would like to know what’s happening here.”

There.  That’s better.

“So what am I then?  A bump on a log?” Niall asks, his cheeks full with the fish taco he’d just taken an enormous bite out of as he remains seated on the other side of Harry.

Louis groans, turning his head and leaning forward in order to get a good look at Niall.  “You told me you _hated_ friendship labels.”

“Well, that was _before_ this turned into a contest,” Niall replies, a sizable amount of crumbs falling from his mouth as he speaks with emotion.  “We smoke together, dude.  I was there before Zayn ever came along.  Or even _Harry_ , for that matter.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to butt in again as he looks at Niall, simply shaking his head as he offers the boy his empathy through the sadness of his eyes.  “Sorry, but I’m pretty sure I was first,” Harry says, followed by a melancholy sigh as he rolls his head back over to meet eyes with Louis, offering the boy one of his sweet grins.  “And even if I wasn’t, I still know I’m his favorite.”  Louis seems to get a bit shy under his gaze as he taps his feet under the table, but he still grins back nonetheless, and the barrier is definitely nonexistent.

“Can’t believe this,” Niall mutters, dropping his messy taco down on his plate.  “First Harry _steals_ Louis from me, and now this _stranger’s_ taken my late night cuddle buddy.”

Harry giggles amusedly in response, watching now as Liam strokes at Zayn’s hair with tender, practiced movements of his fingers, using his other hand to browse through his phone as though he could care less for their conversation.

“ _Well_ ,” Zayn finally pops up, lifting a lazy finger as it shockingly becomes clear he’s _not_ asleep (although his eyes remain closed).  “We can still snuggle each other to sleep if Liam’s down with that—“

“I’m not,” Liam replies without missing a beat, his thumbs not having paused as he keeps his eyes down on his phone.

Zayn appears to grin very faintly as he brings his hand back down to hold onto the boy, and he shrugs with a slight movement of his shoulders.  “Sorry, Niall.”

“You guys are weird,” Louis says gently, toying with one of the napkins on the table.  “Like, actually _weird_.  All of you.  I have no idea how we know each other.”

“You should be thankful though, because otherwise you’d be stuck at home, bored on a Friday night,” Niall replies.

Harry scrunches his face a bit before he shakes his head.  “No, he’d probably be having so much fun _studying_.”

Niall nods in agreement as he lightly punches Harry’s shoulder.  “Actually, you’re right.  I forgot that was his definition of fun.”

“Shut up,” Louis laughs, burying his mouth in his hands for a moment as he attempts to stifle it.  He keeps his eyes set on the surface of the table as he speaks quietly and gently, Harry almost tempted to close his eyes to the sound of his voice.  “I guess it is…good that I met you guys.  I have something to look _forward_ to now, you know?  Like—besides all that necessary, more professional stuff I do.”  He rests his head against the palm of his hand as he sighs.  “Wish I’d had you guys throughout my earlier years of uni.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s happened in one of the many universes,” Harry says, his mind now becoming a haze of images as he thinks hard about it.  “And _wow_.  That’s so wild to think about.”

“Yeah.  If something like that actually _existed_ ,” Niall comments, before jamming the rest of his taco into his mouth.

“ _Hey,”_ Louis says.  “Don’t talk down on Harry, because he very well could be speaking the truth.  He’s right about everything, you know.”

Harry runs a finger through his hair as he resists the urge to cheese bashfully at the fact that Louis’ defending him, Niall muttering a noncommittal “Sure he is.”

As Harry observes the environment around him, the almost empty dining area they’re sitting in due to the lateness of the night, Niall reaching behind him in order to sneakily poke at Louis’ neck, causing the boy to retaliate by grabbing onto his hand, the unlikely, spontaneous couple across the table from him that’s bloomed out of thin air, Harry can’t help thinking about how it would look in the future.

Life isn’t slowing down for anyone, and they’re definitely all at pivotal points in their lives where they have to either buckle down or get left behind as they literally get pushed into adulthood, and Harry hopes with every fiber of his being that among the many changes and people coming in and out of their lives, this stays the same.

“Do you guys ever think about the future?” Harry asks abruptly, even though Liam’s already looking at him with furrowed brows and inquisitive eyes, probably due to the fact that Harry’d been zoning out intensely.

“No,” Niall replies simply.

Harry shrugs the boy off with a shake of his head as he continues.  “Like…we’re always going to be moving through time and space—that never stops, which is why nothing’s stagnant, so like…what if in like, twenty years, I don’t even remember some of your last names?”

He swipes his tongue over his lips as his eyes narrow to a small degree, his entire being now becoming absorbed in these compelling series of thoughts.

“Maybe even in _less_ than twenty years, like…not too far from now,” Harry continues, his voice losing volume as he focuses his eyes on the center bowl of tortilla chips.  “What if we don’t talk anymore?”

It’s a pretty dark thought, almost uncharacteristically dark for Harry and his naturally positive mindset, but he can’t help that this is exactly what’s going through his mind right now.

“Don’t stress over imaginary things,” Zayn sighs into Liam’s shoulder, his eyes continuing to rest.

He gets pulled out of his intense state of deeply thinking once he feels a touch against his ankle. 

It’s Louis.

The boy’s simply nudging his ankle to Harry’s under the table, establishing a sort of confirming, gentle contact as Harry brings his eyes to look at him.  Once their gazes are locked in with each other, the boy moves his hand very gently in order to cross over his heart, and Harry feels a gust of warmth flow right through his chest.

The boy quickly turns his gaze back forward, clasping his hands together as he sits up in his seat.  “ _Well_ , I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve had enough of tonight and I’m more than ready to head home.”

The rest of the boys seem to be in favor of it, general hums of agreement as they finally get themselves up and away from the table in order to dispose of their trash, and Harry’s already starting to feel a mild sense of despair at having to leave the boy.

 _You’ve spent hours together_ is what he continues to tell himself so that he can stop being such a dramatic, needy baby, but he can’t help that once they’re outside and prepared to go different ways, he doesn’t want to leave him.

He suddenly realizes he doesn’t have to face this sadness just yet, because Louis starts on his way toward his car, walking backwards with his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket as he looks meaningfully at Harry.  At first, Harry’s not quite sure of the signal the boy’s trying to send—or if there even _is_ a signal trying to be sent—but then the boy moves his elbow in a subtle “c’mon” kind of fashion.

Harry’s lips are milliseconds from curving up on either side with glee as he scratches behind his ear, turning toward Niall and Zayn (who’s _still_ attached to Liam) briefly as he begins to back away as well.

“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna go with Louis,” he says, saluting them with a firm hand, before he fully turns around, headed for the direction of Louis’ car. 

He _definitely_ doesn’t add a bit of a skip to his step.

 

~*~

 

“How could you possibly not know what your taste in music is?” Harry asks from where he’s fully reclined in Louis’ desk chair, the boy laughing as he remains rested on his stomach in his bed.  The boy appears much more comfortable now that he’s rid of his jacket and left with the black sweatshirt underneath, along with the pink and purple striped socks Harry hadn’t even known he’d been wearing.

“I just don’t,” Louis replies with a shrug of his shoulder, burying his face in his arms.  “I don’t have time for thinking about that kind of stuff.”

“For thinking about _music_?” Harry asks in disbelief, full on gaping as the boy goes into another fit of laughter at Harry’s reaction.  Harry throws his hands in the air, looking up at the ceiling as though this information has caused him to age exceptionally faster.  “This is unacceptable, Louis.”

“I’ll gladly accept your help if you want to educate me on the many, _many_ layers of music, like the indie pop, and the—the neo soul, and the garage—what was it you were calling it?” he asks, drawing his eyebrows together as he giggles into the bed sheets.

“Garage house,” Harry says, mock-tiredly as he makes a face at Louis.

“Yeah, _that_ was it.”

“Educating you wouldn’t be enough,” Harry says as he brings both of his feet up to rest on the chair.  He suddenly perks up, straightening out his back as he points at the boy with a stern finger.  “I have to take you to a _concert_.  One of the big ones, like Coachella or something.”

“While you’re at it, you can also take me skydiving,” Louis says sarcastically. 

“And what else?” Harry asks, blinking his eyes prettily at Louis.

Louis closes his eyes for a moment as he ponders what else it is he’d like to do, before his lips are pulled into an upward curve.  “Hiking.  I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“I should definitely like, do what Niall does and make a bucket list,” Harry starts.  “But instead, it’ll be loaded with things I’ll eventually do with _you_.”

“That’s an awesome idea,” Louis replies delightedly, pushing himself up to a sitting position as he leans on his palms behind him.  “Because now my hopes are starting to rise.”

“Christmas caroling.  I’ve always wanted to do that,” Harry suggests.  “You up for it?”

“Definitely add that to the list,” Louis replies, pointing at the boy.

Harry reaches behind him and shuffles through some of the notebooks scattered upon Louis’ desk, before taking the time to rip a blank piece of notebook paper out of it.  “You think I’m joking, but I’m actually writing this down,” he says, grabbing a pen out of the pencil holder before he turns back toward the boy, Louis now giggling profusely as he kicks his feet.

“Excuse you.  I’m dead serious too,” Louis replies, pausing for a moment as he seemingly thinks of something else.  “Add ‘explore Saturn’ on there.”

Harry’s half a second away from genuinely writing it down before he realizes how utterly impossible that would be, which seems to be the point of the joke as Louis continues to laugh, throwing himself back down against the bed as he lays in it.

Harry brings the pen up to his chin, pressing the tip into his skin as he looks at the boy.  “You know there’s actually gonna be technology for that someday, right?”

Louis hums in agreement.  “Mhm.  And when it happens, we will explore Saturn,” the boy says, his words muffled because of where his face is half buried into the duvet.

Harry gets up from the chair, throwing the paper aside as he gets on the bed, knees-first.  “Pretty sure we’d have to become billionaires first, though,” he says, laying down against the bed as well, his body situated alongside Louis’.  “It’ll be really expensive.”

Louis’ face is buried cozily in his arms as he stares back at Harry, his head on its side and his eyes heavy with desired sleep.  “I bet it will be,” he replies.

There’s a period of silence that goes on for a moment, but it’s not one of those weird, off-putting ones that Harry’d gotten used to lately.  It’s tranquil, and it doesn’t cause Harry to feel like he needs to pull his eyes away from the boy as they simply stare at each other, comfortably and dazedly.  Harry would do this all day if it were allowed.  He _loves_ this.

Currently, Harry’s actually struggling against the desire to reach out and “boop” the boy’s cute nose with the tip of his finger.

As the peaceful period stretches, the desire to do it becomes more evident, his hand nearly vibrating with the urge.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?” Louis suddenly asks, his voice barely heard due to the lowness of it, paired with it being mumbled into his sleeves.

Harry hears it though.  Of _course_ he hears it, because whenever the word is said around him, it’s as though his ears become hypersensitive, sending him into a state of self-consciousness.

Still, Harry chooses to immediately go for the _very_ slim possibility that he’d heard wrong.  “Huh?” he asks.

“You.  Gay,” Louis says bluntly, before his face falls to a tiny degree.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry shifts in the bed, propping himself up on his elbows as he now stares down at the duvet in slight frustration, his thoughts beginning to jumble together as he slowly slips into defensive mode.  “I—I didn’t…I dunno…”

“C’mon Harry, there has to be a reason.”

“I—what does it _matter_?” Harry asks, raising his voice a smidge.  “It doesn’t change anything.”

Louis’ voice is heard more clearly now, and Harry figures it’s because he’s pulled his face out of his burrow, even though he won’t dare look directly at the boy to confirm.  “It matters that you didn’t _tell_ me.  This is something pretty big, and I thought you could be _honest_ enough—“

“ _Honest_?” Harry asks, his tone going up a whole pitch as he huffs out a dry laugh for one second.  He sits up even more, sliding his legs off of the side of the bed as his body’s now fully turned away from Louis.  “Not _once_ did I _ever_ say I was straight.  And if you assumed it, then that’s on _you_.”

Harry can hear the boy sigh exhaustedly as he continues to lay behind him.  “Don’t do this, okay?  You can’t deny that through this whole friendship, you haven’t been fully honest about who you are, and that bothers me.”

Harry scoffs, shaking his head at the ceiling as he begins to feel something thick forming in his throat.  “Of course.  _That’s_ what bothers you about this.  Do you know how you fucking _sound_ right now?”

He had a feeling this was what the weirdness was about, but he’d wanted so bad for that feeling to be invalid.  Fuck.  He would have taken Louis being weird about literally anything _else_.  Just not this.

“ _Sorry_ if I’d like to actually _know_ the person I’ve been spending almost _all_ of my time with lately!” Louis replies, and Harry can tell the boy is fully sat up on the bed now, due to the shift he feels on the mattress.

“You _do_ know me!” Harry snaps, now turning around and sending the sharpness of his stare at the boy, knowing his eyes are probably bearing a hint of red right now.

“Obviously I don’t, since you couldn’t even tell me something apparently _everyone_ already knew,” Louis replies, his eyes unmoving from Harry’s.

Harry looks down at where his palm is buried deep into the duvet, blinking his eyes repeatedly as his hand continues to sink into it.

“Just…” he starts, exhaling with a trembling breath as he brings his volume back to a quieter level.  “Just admit you hate it, that you’re against it, and then we can just be over with.”

The words pierce the air like tiny, sharp needles once they’ve left Harry’s mouth, and he has to bite down on his lip in order to contain whatever emotions want to escape him.  He _had_ to say it, because he knows it’s what they’re both thinking.

“Harry,” Louis practically whispers.  “I…I’d _never_ —“

Harry cuts him off as he shakes his head with a sour laugh, already preparing to get up from the bed.  “You’ve already proven yourself by blowing this up so,” he says with a sniffle, halfway across the room in an instant as he slips on his jacket.

“If you’re just gonna be like this, then I don’t fucking care anymore,” Louis replies tiredly.  “I just wanted to be _comfortable_ with knowing—“

“What would you have to be _uncomfortable_ about?  It’s not like I’m trying to get with you anyway,” he hisses through weak breaths, practically spitting the words as his face twists into a sort of sneer.  He exits out of the room without sparing even another moment to listen to any of Louis’ words, and he’s quite proud of the fact that his eyes don’t well with tears until he’s outside of the front door.

Nothing trails down his cheeks, however (he makes _sure_ of it) as he takes long strides in order to get back to where he lives, his clenched fists shoved in his pockets and his nose sniffing endlessly.

Once he enters through his front door, he doesn’t even spare a glance at whatever Niall, Liam, and Zayn are focused on in the kitchen as he continues to move his feet across the entirety of the flat.  He wipes his eyes with his sleeve, knowing the only place he wants to be right now is in his bedroom, suffocating himself with one of his pillows.

He only hears a portion of Zayn asking “What’s wrong?” before he shuts his bedroom door behind himself. 

An old water bottle falls off of the edge of his dresser in response to the door being slammed, but Harry ignores it as he advances towards his bed in order to fully flop himself on top of it, burying his stupid face into the stupid blankets.

 He’s so fucking _stupid_. 

He mournfully rolls around in his bed sheets, sufficiently making a tangled mess of them as he chews his lip into oblivion in order to keep all the emotions inside, his mouth beginning to bear tiny amounts of pain.

He eventually ends up buried under it all, every light in his room off as he hides from the world in darkness, wondering where everything went wrong. 

 _Did_ anything go wrong?

About an hour passes and Harry still hasn’t properly collected his thoughts.  His mind is just filled with a bunch of useless, piled up words, memories of what was said, images of a certain boy’s smile, and he doesn’t know how to _organize_ it all.

When he hears the quiet sound of his doorknob turning, followed by the faint creak as it seems someone pushes it open, he squeezes his eyes shut and mentally scolds himself for forgetting to fucking _lock_ the door.

“Harry?” he hears, the boy’s voice hesitant and soft.

Niall.

Harry fully expects his own words to sound as raw and weak as they do.  “Go away.”  He further immerses himself into his tunnel of blankets, only his eyes peeking out into the still darkness of his room.

He hears the door close, but he knows the boy hasn’t left, courtesy of the gentle patter of his feet as he approaches the bed.

“Look, you know I’m not good with anything that involves _feelings,_ but I care about you, so here we go,” Niall says, before getting on top of where Harry’s body lies buried underneath the blankets, the boy now hugging his body as efficiently as he can despite the barrier between them.  “What’s up, pup?”

Harry offers him nothing other than a sniff in response.

“C’mon,” Niall urges, shifting his head a bit in order to get a peek at Harry’s face from where he’s nestled comfortably.  “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“’Course you do,” Niall says.  “You went to Louis’ place happy as fuck, and now you’re here, on the verge of crying.  Something must’ve happened in between then.”

“I’m not crying,” Harry mumbles, even as he finally feels the first tear escape his ducts, trailing down the side of his face and soiling his pillow.  It feels like failure.

Niall hugs Harry and his heap of blankets even tighter, Harry feeling the weight of the boy’s head against his own as the boy rests it.

Harry releases a deep breath before he speaks, keeping his voice low.  “He questioned me about being gay, and then we argued.”

There’s silence between them for a moment, Harry figuring the boy’s trying to piece things together.

“Wait…he didn’t know already?”

Harry shakes his head faintly.  “No.  I never told him.”

“ _Why_?” Niall asks, his tone of voice just pushy enough to irritate Harry.

“Because I don’t fucking have to,” he snaps.

Niall pats at the boy’s head gently in an attempt to ease him out of his growing agitated state.  “I guess you do have a point…it’s _your_ choice.”  He goes quiet again, Harry now growing curious of what’s going through his head.  “So he got mad that you were gay?”

“Yeah…well sort of—not really,” Harry stammers, inhaling through his nose as he grows frustrated.  “I guess…he _said_ he wasn’t, but I just feel like he was.”

Niall laughs, his airy chuckles sounding throughout the quiet room.  “You think _Louis_ is homophobic?  Really?”

“I mean…” Harry starts, his volume coming down to a near whisper.  “No.”

“Ah.  I think I see now,” Niall says, matching his quiet voice to Harry’s.  “You have feelings for him, and through this reveal, you realized he doesn’t reciprocate those feelings.  C’mere,” he says, his voice drenched in sympathy and sorrow for the boy as he hugs him tighter, reaching one hand up in order to dig under the blankets and stroke at the boy’s hair, Harry now in an even _worse_ state than he’d been just a few seconds ago.

“He doesn’t like you back, and that’s okay,” Niall whispers, continuing to trace through his hair.  “I’ll help you get through it, I promise.”

Harry hadn’t been thinking that deeply, but fucking _thanks a lot Niall_ for making his internal suffering much more painful now.

“I don’t know _what_ he likes,” Harry says, finally beginning to crumble as he rolls over on his back, his eyes filling with wetness once again.  “And it’s driving me _crazy_.  I just…I wanna know what he’s _thinking_ and—”

Niall shushes him gently as he now lays beside him, continuing to pat and rub at the boy’s head.  “We know what he likes, and it isn’t you.  We’ll get through it somehow.”  He brings the boy’s face in close, the sides of their heads touching as the boy now rubs his cheek, Harry frowning severely as all his emotions spiral even further downward.

 

~*~

 

Another day at work, another day where he and Louis’ schedules don’t happen to coincidentally place them on the same day.

Normally, it wouldn’t matter, because he sees the boy outside of work anyway, but currently, that’s not the case.  Right _now,_ his only chance of seeing the boy _is_ at work, because they haven’t spoken to each other, neither in person or over text, in over a week.

Depending on the context, a week can either be quite short, or overwhelmingly lengthy, and for Harry, it’s the latter.  It’s actually _beyond_ the latter, because it seems as though Harry’s aged significantly through all the days they haven’t spoken.  The hours are longer, it’s much more difficult to get through simple every day activities, and his chest just _hurts_ all the time.

So this is them, actually not being friends anymore.

This clearly isn’t going to be another thing where Louis pops up with his pretty cupcakes and his pretty eyelashes and Harry forgives him because of the fact that he’d already been suffering without him.  That’s not the case here because, even though Harry isn’t keen on _admitting_ it, their current distance is partially his fault.

Louis had… _some_ points.  He guesses.  Harry just went into defensive mode, because he’s sensitive about the subject, and having it brought up did nothing but set blaring alarms off in his mind because he was scared his friend was going to turn on him.  He might’ve tried to take precautions in order to end everything before that happened by cutting Louis off, assuming emotions the boy hadn’t even explicitly expressed, and overall showing that he was nothing but a panicked, insecure mess.

But Louis’ still not in the right either, because he didn’t need to bombard Harry with it and act as though he was obligated to tell him.

He’s still not sure of whether he likes Louis or not.  In _that_ way.  Even though Niall’s gibberish had _almost_ convinced him that he did.

Every time the bell dangling above the entrance of the bookstore jingles, Harry turns his head toward it, his eyes glistening and hopeful.  It’s never him.

 

~*~

 

Harry was supposed to be here with Louis.

He was supposed to get Louis intermingled with his Omega friends, because that’s what he’d told the boy all those nights ago, when they’d been in his car, laughing over pizza and never growing tired of each other’s voices.  That night seems so distant now.

Now he’s sitting here, his white muscle tank glowing under the fluorescent lights everywhere in the darkened house, the white sweatband stuck to his hairline beginning to give him a headache, and his eyes straining a bit as he continues to look at everything around him in a neon, white-glowing haze.

He sighs, closing his eyes briefly as he runs a hand through the mess of his hair and throws his head back against the couch he’s sat on.

He’s supposed to be having fun, according to many of the people who’d claimed this would make him feel better, but this isn’t fun.  Everyone _else_ is obviously having fun, the neon colors drawn across their faces and their festive outfits glowing brightly as they shriek, dance, chant—there’s even people situated right on the couch next to him doing tequila body shots.

Harry knew he shouldn’t have come.  As sad as it is, he can’t be happy without Louis right now.  It’s just not possible.

“You _suck_ at this,” some girl squeals from the couch beside him, many of the surrounding happy people beginning to laugh as they sit around whoever it is lying down across the remaining length of the couch.

Many of the girls are wearing mini white angel wings that glow in the dark, indicating that they’re following the party dress code set for the girls of Kappa Nu.  Harry can admit, the wings are pretty to look at, especially with the pleasant way they bounce behind the girls whenever they move.

One of them becomes aware of Harry’s watchful eyes as they pour salt over the guy’s chest, her perfect rows of teeth showing as she smiles at him.  Harry’s sure he’s spoken to her before.  He definitely doesn’t know her name though.

“C’mon Harry, you should try,” she says, beckoning him over with a tilt of her head.

Harry shakes his head as he messes with the fabric of his jersey shorts.  “No…I’m good, actually.”

Her eyebrows drop as she makes a disappointed face at him, a few of the other surrounding heads turning in his direction curiously.

“I’ve never seen you be so boring,” she comments.

Harry knows he shouldn’t care about what she thinks, but the words hurt him more than he’d ever thought they would.  He’s never been classified as _boring_ and it certainly hits him where it hurts.

Another girl adds to the commentary, gesturing at Harry lazily as she narrows her eyes.  “Aren’t you the one that crowd-surfed the last party?”

Harry nods as he looks down at his lap, forcing a light chuckle out from between his lips.  “Yeah, I am.”

“Ugh.  You _are_ boring now,” she says. 

Harry’s face falls as he looks at her, the constant boom of the bass throughout the frat house starting to irritate him exponentially with every beat.

“Just c’mon,” the girl continues, before motioning toward the guy laid across the couch, the buttons of his sheer shirt done apart so that his chest is exposed.  “He’s a _cute one_ ,” she sings excitedly.

The guy sits up a bit, as though trying to get a glimpse at who exactly it is they’re inviting over to lick at his chest, and he flashes Harry a charming smile.  “Yeah, I am,” he says, followed by a subtle wink.

Harry bites onto the nail on his thumb, fighting back a grin in response, because the guy _is_ cute, objectively.

He’s not as cute as Louis, though.

Nevertheless, Harry prepares to move forward on the couch, intent not to sit there and be labeled as “boring” for the first time in his life.

He squeezes into the area of the cushion between the guy’s body and the back of the couch, many of the girls giggling as the guy now smugly rests his hands behind his head.  Harry goes through the motions of licking up the salt from the top of the man’s chest to the crook of his neck before taking the shot glass that one of the girls offers to him and downing it as effortlessly as he can.

Getting the drink down proves itself to be a bit of a struggle, however, since he’s not that much of a drinker, so he takes a few seconds to blink as the buzz of the tequila courses through him, before he moves in order to take the lime out of the guy’s mouth with his teeth.

The guy sits up just a little as he does it, teasingly hinting at the fact that he wants their mouths to touch, but Harry shakes his head, his shoulders shaking with amusement as he now holds the lime in his mouth.  He tries not to twist his face too severely in response to the sourness of the lime as he keeps it in his mouth for a bit, the girls whistling around him as he begins to level up from all of the praise.

He slowly begins to allow himself to have a good time as he loosens up some more, helping himself to a few more shots of tequila once he realizes it’s definitely helping him to come out of his distant, melancholy shell.  It actually works for a while, and although Harry’s not in his usual showy, animated element, he definitely feels much better as he laughs with whoever will join them on the couch, also flattered by the fact that the guy he’d done the shot off of is openly flirting with him.

When they run out of drinks, Harry’s the first one getting off of the couch with a shot glass in hand, intent to get to the kitchen in order to pour himself something else, but he gets stopped halfway there by a hand on his shoulder that he can hardly see.

He darts his eyes toward whoever this is that’s caught him, and once he sees that it’s Liam, he becomes even more puzzled. 

The boy tilts his head to the side, as though motioning in some direction as he comes very close to Harry, speaking in his ear.  “ _That’s_ Fiona.”

The name triggers something in Harry as he instinctively holds onto the shot glass tighter, his head snapping straight in the direction of where Liam had been pointing his head at.  They’re now both looking at a girl, short and compact, with what looks like dark hair as her eyelashes seem to have a neon blue glow to them and her Kappa Nu wings jump around behind her.  She’s quite far away, noticeably holding a conversation with some other partygoers on the stairs as she holds a plastic cup in her hand, and she’s…pretty, Harry thinks.

She’s also obviously what Louis likes, so in some way, although Harry’s not quite sure yet, she’s better than him.  It pricks just a little, and it causes him to have to swallow down the lump in his throat before he remembers how he’s supposed to be _forgetting_ about that kind of thing right now.

He turns back to look at Liam, the boy now bearing a devious air to his facial expression as the slowest grin creeps onto his lips, and Harry now definitely believes that Louis had been correct when he’d told him Liam was the spawn of Satan.  He’d clearly done this _just_ to get him riled up and ruin his entire night.  He hasn’t succeeded though.  Or at least Harry hopes he hasn’t.

 He shrugs the boy’s hand off of his shoulder as he mutters.  “Cool.  I don’t care.”

And he decides that he _doesn’t_ , instead furthering his journey towards the kitchen in order to get that drink he’d been hoping for. 

He doesn’t fully get there though, because he unexpectedly comes to a stop near one of the decorative stools in the house, resting his weight on it by the palm of his hand and putting his shot glass down.

He simply lets his eyes close as the frat house continues to grow ridicuously loud around him, the song that’s playing intensifying, the sound of something fairly hard breaking somewhere in the distance.

And then, he turns his head again, his eyes finding her far away once more, several moving bodies between them as he watches her from afar.

 _What does she have that I don’t_ —

He shakes the thought again, pushing himself back up to his feet and determinedly heading for his destination.

He gets a bit more tequila in his system, figuring that the looser the alcohol helps him to become, the less he’ll care.

That’s proven wrong when he mixes himself back in with the more “chill” side of the party, and his wandering, alcohol-hazed mind can’t stop lingering on it. 

He decides he shouldn’t stress too much about it, because it’s not like _Louis’_ here.

He nods at himself as he sits there, clearly zoned out and disregarding the conversation going on around him.  Yeah.  Louis’ _not_ here.  The thought actually succeeds in reassuring him and getting his emotions to finally mellow out.

That is, until Louis _is_ actually there.

He’s hardly discernible from the rest of the foggy glow of people that’s currently almost blurred together now that Harry’s sufficiently tipsy, but he sees him, and almost instantly.  It causes him to quickly sit up where he’s situated, narrowing his eyes in the boy’s direction as though it’ll give him some kind of superhuman vision.  It seems as though the boy’s gone for a relatively simple look, his slightly large, short sleeved white t-shirt folded at the sleeves and his arms bare, which is rare in and of itself.

People keep moving through his vision, so his sight of the boy fades in and out constantly, but as Harry observes him (not realizing how _blatantly_ he’s doing it), the boy brushing his palms over each other and conversing lightly with a few people that stop him as he steps throughout the house, he seems like he’s…looking for something.  Or _someone._

Harry’s not even fully registering the fact that he, himself, has now gotten up from the couch completely, wedging his body into the crowd of dancing people as he attempts to get a better look at the boy, while still remaining a fair distance away. 

At some point, he darts his eyes in the direction the girl had been, just checking to see if she’s there, and she is—reclined back against the bottom of the stairs as she continues to sip lightly and prissily at her drink.

They’re on opposite sides of the room, so that’s good, Harry decides.

That’s how he spends a lot of his time for a while, subtly (or at least, he _thinks_ he’s subtle) keeping an eye on the both of them from far away as he slides himself into people’s conversions, halfheartedly dances when people pull him in, and downs a water bottle to even out his mind just a bit.  It doesn’t look like Louis knows she’s there, but despite that, Harry’s heart becomes more panicked with every step he takes closer to where she is.

Harry’s in the middle of harshly biting the inside of his cheek at the sight of Louis growing even _nearer_ to her, when he gets pulled by someone hooking an excited arm around his shoulder.

“Dude, Niall’s gonna jump off the _ceiling_!” Jeffery hollers in his ear, Harry furrowing his eyebrows as his attention is sufficiently shifted.

He suddenly becomes aware of the several people around him who are rushing towards the back porch of the house with exhilaration.

Harry lets himself be pulled in the same direction as well, only looking over his shoulder once before they join the masses outside, and sure enough, his unhinged friend is on the balcony upon the roof, reveling in the cheers and screams of everyone below as he extends an arm out, seemingly trying to plan out the direction he’s going to have to jump in order to succeed in landing in the pool.

Bucket list item number seventy-two.

The boy is clearly drunk, and this is really _fucking_ dangerous—and Harry doesn’t have _time_ for it right now.

His exasperation grows to an even more intense state when he looks around at the great crowd of visible people outside clad in bright colors, and he doesn’t see Louis _or_ Fiona anywhere.

Harry leans in closely to Jeffery so that the boy will hear him over the loud chants of Niall’s name.  “Is this safe?” he asks.

Jeffery scoffs before nodding his head enthusiastically.  “Of _course_.  We do this all the time when we’re bored,” he laughs.

“Okay,” Harry replies, before escaping the boy’s grasp and beginning to cut through people in order to make it back into the house.

Once he’s submerged back into the neon darkness, he sees that the house is still swimming with the few people who _aren’t_ interested in blond-haired whackos jumping off of roofs, which makes it easier for Harry to look around for them.

His feet come to a stop just short of entering the house however, because his eyes find them almost instantly.

They’re with each other.  But even just saying _that_ would be an understatement.

Louis’ hand is on the small of her back, her arm is wrapped around the back of his neck, and they’re walking up the stairs together.  Harry can hear the joyous sound of her laughs even from how far away he stands.

Harry swallows, a stinging sensation growing in his eyes as he simply stands there.  He figures he must like torture, because he just continues to remain there, his fingers curling at his sides and his vision beginning to blur with wetness as they disappear at the top of the stairs, presumably headed into one of the rooms.

Harry wipes a hand across his sniffling nose as he turns around, intent to go back on the porch with everyone else and forget about this shit.

He doesn’t bat an eyelash at the fact that Niall’s now floating in the pool, spitting water out of his mouth like some dolphin as everyone surrounding eggs him on.  He finds one of the faraway chairs to sit on, set down on the grass below the porch where even fewer people reside, and he sets his elbows on his knees, his foot now beginning to tap against the ground vigorously.

God, why did he even _think—_ or why did he even _begin_ to acquire some sort of hope about whatever the fuck this thing going on between him and Louis is?

He’s such a fucking idiot.

He doesn’t even stay seated for five minutes before he gets back on his feet, escaping through the back fence of the house, in need of somewhere to be alone and _breathe._

He presses his back against the fence once he’s outside of it, and when he’s completely alone, only the faint sounds of the party in the distance, the shiny moon glaring down at him in the sky, and the cool brush of air across his skin, he’s still not satisfied.

He rubs his hands against his face as he slides his back down the fence, all the way until he’s sat upon the cold, damp grass.

He’s not crying.  Definitely not crying.  The alcohol is just making him extremely expressive right now.  He’s pretty sure if he was sober, he wouldn’t even be reacting like this.

He digs his fingers under his sweatband in frustration, scratching at his hair and not knowing what the fuck it is that he’s even upset about.

Here he is, sitting outside of the party like some fucking miserable loser, while Niall’s in the pool having the time of his life, Zayn and Liam have probably fucked off in some corner, and Louis’ with that _girl_ in some room, not even thinking about Harry.

Harry gets up off of the ground, deciding _fuck this_ , he’s going to catch a bus home or something— _whatever_ it takes to simply get out of here.

He walks up to the sidewalk with heavy feet, intent to find _some_ bus to wait around for, because there’s no use in sticking around and spreading his negative energies everywhere if he’s not even—

“Harry?”

Harry’s walking feet come to a slow stop as he’s passing by the sidewalk in front of the frat house, the boy’s voice rushing into his atmosphere like honey.  His head turns in the direction of the sound, the boy seeming to have emerged from the front steps of the house as he approaches Harry, his eyes grandiose and questioning.

“I was looking for you,” Louis continues, stopping a few feet short of Harry as he messes around with his fingers.

Harry doesn’t say anything as he stands there with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, slowly turning to face his full body towards Louis.

“The boys said you were here, but I couldn’t find you.”

“Oh,” Harry finally says, keeping his voice quiet so that the frailness of it can’t be heard clearly.  “Here I am.”

A shy grin can be seen trying to grow on Louis’ lips as he stares at the boy, the moonlight outlining the stray strands of his hair like a glowing halo.

After a long period of silence, Harry opens his mouth to say “I’m sorry” at the same time as the boy opens his to say “I wanted to apologize”.

Harry laughs for half a second, feeling a touch lighter as Louis smiles a bit more as well.

Harry tilts his head forward at the boy, his lips pulled to the side.  “You go.”

Louis nods as he presses his palms together.  “I just thought I should apologize for…what happened that night.  I shouldn’t have blown it out of proportion like that,” Louis says, the softness of his voice blending with the serene night.  He fixes his eyes directly into Harry’s as he says his next few words, Harry’s breath stilling for a moment.  “It doesn’t change anything.  I promise.  You’re still the exact same dorky, amazing Harry that I’m honored to be friends with.”

Harry chuckles gently with delight, and he’s not sure if those words should make him happy or sad.

“I just…” Louis continues.  “I thought that you would be comfortable enough to tell me something like that.  I just kinda got worried that maybe you didn’t trust me as much as I thought you did.”  The boy takes a few steps forward, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his white jeans as he looks at Harry.  “As much as I trust _you._ Because…you know, you’re my best friend.  I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me anything.”

“I don’t feel like that,” Harry replies, toying with the hem of his shirt with one hand as he looks down.  “I dunno…I didn’t really listen to what you had to say.  Kinda just went into attack mode,” Harry laughs, Louis laughing right back as his lips curve beautifully.  “I understand where you’re coming from, though.”

“Cool,” Louis says, brushing his fingers over his elbows.  “Now we can finally stop this whole ‘distant’ thing and go back to normal, right?”

Harry nods, his dimples deepening as he brings his eyes back up to look at the boy.  “Right.”

“So where were you headed?” Louis asks.

Harry looks over his shoulder for a moment at a bus stop in the distance before turning back to Louis.  “I was just—uh…I was gonna leave, and stuff,” he begins.  “Catch one of the late night shuttle buses or something, since the rest of the boys clearly aren’t done having fun.”

“Well come on then,” Louis says, already beginning on his feet as he starts past the boy, getting right on the sidewalk ahead of him.

Harry smiles crookedly as he follows behind him, a little thrown, but pleasantly surprised at this swift turn of events in a more positive direction.

Once a bus does come around to pick them up, they’ve already transitioned back into their laughing, shoving, teasingly comfortable selves, and Louis almost trips on one of the steps as they climb onto the bus, leading Harry to believe the boy had probably had something to drink as well.

Although the bus is completely empty, Harry leads the way in advancing toward the very back of it, lifting a hand in order to remain standing as he holds onto one of the metal handle bars near the back exits.  Louis sits on a nearby seat with his legs stretched out in front of him, beaming up at Harry.

“I never thought I’d witness you, Harry Styles, trying to leave a party early,” Louis teases, standing up and coming over to the boy in order to hang off of him, the jolt of the moving bus pushing them together just a hint.

“Never thought I’d witness you, Louis Tomlinson, even coming to one,” Harry laughs, the boy narrowing his eyes at him as the bus continues to zoom through dark streets, causing marvelous shadows to move across his face.

Louis wraps one of his arms around Harry’s back as he comes in close to him, and he splays one hand against his chest, and—yep, the boy’s _definitely_ had something to drink.  He’s usually somewhat touchy, but never _this_ much.

“I came for _you_ ,” Louis says quietly.

Harry smacks his teeth as he slowly shakes his head, keeping his fist braced around the handle bar above him.  “You don’t have to lie.”

Louis looks up at him, his fingers gently beginning to grip at the fabric of his shirt as his lips part open.  “I’m _not_.  I knew you’d be there, and I was tired of fighting.”

Their eyes are attached now, and with the way Louis’ looking at him without a trace of hollowness in a single part of his features, it seems like he’s telling the truth.  Somehow, Harry still doesn’t buy it, due to a loud presence in his head that continues to display the image of the two of them walking up the stairs.

“I don’t lie to you, Harry,” Louis says, his tone serious.

Harry breathes gently, lifting his free hand up in order to place it where Louis’ hand remains on his chest.  “Okay.”

Louis seems pleased by Harry’s understanding of the trust they’ve established, and he smiles as he lets his face rest against Harry’s skin—more specifically, his armpit, as he leans into Harry’s arm that’s still lifted into the air, holding on so that they don’t fall to the floor of the bus in a heap.

“You smell good,” Louis comments, practically burying his nose in it and causing Harry to giggle.  He pulls his face back an inch, examining the bare skin on Harry’s armpit as Harry watches him with contained amusement.

“You shave, like… _really_ thoroughly.  Is this _waxed_?”  Louis asks, just as Harry’s reaching over in order to pull the cord so that the bus will stop.  “Do you _wax_ , Harry?”

Harry playfully shoves him away as they prepare to leave the bus, and once he's hopped down from the exit doors, he obnoxiously offers his hand to help Louis out as the boy steps off.

They walk aimlessly for a few seconds with excitement coursing through their bodies and jumpy feet, and then Louis comes to a stop, blinking his eyes lazily as he looks around.

“Harry, where’ve we even gotten off?” he asks, looking at the boy.  “Have you just stranded us in the middle of nowhere?”

Harry shakes his head as he shoves Louis with his shoulder, leading the way in bringing them to walk again.  “I’m not an _idiot_.  Although I might’ve pulled the cord a little early, though,” Harry says, Louis looking at him with displeasure.  “My place is just a bit of a walk from here.”

He didn’t pull it early on accident.  He’d wanted to get the chance to stroll alongside Louis in the middle of the night and hear the boy’s chuckles sound through the air.  It’s one of his favorite things to do, and he'd missed it.

Just as Harry’d wished, they end up doing exactly that, kicking their lazy feet as they fall into conversation about everything from whether they’re cat people or dog people to the contents of outer space.

Although it continues to live on in his mind, the image of the two of them going up the stairs, it becomes much more quiet now as the both of them become louder, not holding back in guffawing with wide mouths and hands to their stomachs as everything they say echoes softly.

At some point they get into enthusiastic agreement about how it’s imperative that Louis learns how to roller skate, since Harry knows how to ride the skateboard and it only makes sense, and they barely even step into Harry’s flat once they reach it, instead coming right back out as they both slip into pairs of Harry’s roller skates.

They roll around in front of his apartment building in the middle of the night, hearty giggles sounding through the air as Louis holds onto Harry’s forearms as the boy leads him, and everything is all the more amusing to Harry because of how comically large his roller skates look on Louis’ small feet.

They spend a lot of time falling on their asses, mostly due to Louis constantly losing balance and taking Harry down with him, and every time it happens—even when the fall is _severe_ and looks as though it’s super painful—the boy just laughs, and Harry’s heart seems as though it’s growing warmer with every huff that escapes Louis’ mouth.

Harry can just feel himself slowly floating down the bottomless, blissful pit that is Louis Tomlinson, every time the boy smiles with all his teeth, speaks softly in that _certain_ way that urges Harry to close his eyes gently, touches him with the tips of his fingers.  The night is progressing and at the same time, Harry is falling in deep.  Extremely deep.  He’s not buzzing and profusely giggly from the earlier tequila shots anymore.  It’s all from Louis.

Once they finally decide that maybe they should simmer down and go inside, they make it to the front door after quite a struggle of getting up to the second floor (obviously, they both aren’t using their common sense enough to realize they should probably _take off_ the skates now).

Louis continues to grip Harry’s elbow with delicate fingers as they enter into the dark flat, and Harry leads the way in order to roll towards the kitchen, intent to help them both to something appetizing.

In the middle of reaching into the fridge in search of anything to make edible, his eyes fall upon a stack of mail, seemingly stuffed into one of clear drawers inside of it.  He knows this is the doing of the one person in the house who sticks things in the first place he sees once he gets tired of holding them.  Fucking Niall.

“I _told_ Niall he shouldn’t just throw _mail_ anywhere, Jesus,” Harry mutters, pulling the stack out and rolling backwards, away from the fridge until his back rests against the edge of the counter, his hands flipping through the many envelopes—that go back _several dates_.

“Wow,” Louis laughs, getting up to his feet from where he’d been sat at the kitchen table, the skates now removed from his feet as his socks gently pat against the floor.  “That’s even worse than Liam.”

Harry’s in the midst of preparing to chuckle in response to the boy, but his eyes fall upon a certain peculiar, beige envelope—one with his name on it.

Because of the fancy print, the neat, official seal on it, and the fact that it has the _name_ of the institute across it, Harry knows without a doubt in his mind that it’s the internship.

He grows bug eyed as he simply stares at it, slowly pulling it away from the remaining stack of envelopes as he holds it.  Louis stares at it as well, the boy now at his side as he leans his palm against the counter and watches over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry’d completely forgotten about this thing.

“I’d completely forgotten about this thing,” Harry says, his eyebrows drawing together as he works quickly in order to get it open, knowing that there’s absolutely no way this could possibly be an _acceptance_ letter—

Once he pulls out the paper inside of it, they’re both quiet for a moment, silently reading as their curious eyes move across the page, looking for either negatively connotated words that express all things bad, or the exact opposite.

He feels Louis’ hand come up to his lower back, the boy giving it a comforting rub.

“Congrats,” he says quietly.

Harry would like to be welcoming of the boy’s words, but he’s still in a state of great confusion at the fact that he’s even _staring_ at this piece of paper right now. 

“How…” Harry merely breathes, turning the paper over briefly as though something should be hidden on the back of it.

Louis narrows his eyes a bit, leaning in as he seems to be looking at the date.  “Yep.  This was sent in a while ago, so I definitely didn’t get one,” he says, adding a sort of sad chuckle at the end of his sentence.

Harry sets everything in his hands down on the counter beside him before he turns to Louis, faintly shaking his head as the boy grins fully.  “Louis…I’m—I don’t even—“

“ _Harry_.  It’s fine,” Louis says with a sigh, continuing to caress his waist.  “If _anyone_ could’ve gotten it, I’m glad it’s you.  I’m happy for you.”

Harry knew how much this meant to him.  He knew from the moment they’d bumped into each other on the way to the post office, that Louis had been way more serious about all of it than Harry, yet right now, as the boy gazes at him in the darkness of the kitchen, offering the boy a genuine smile, he believes the boy when he says he’s happy for him.  So he figures that’s all there is that should be said about that.

Harry makes it his duty for that to be the case, shifting the atmosphere of the kitchen by skating around in order to prepare them a big bowl of various tasty elements, Louis seeming to forget about it as well as everything becomes effortless and easy once again, the boy giving him suggestions as to what to put in the bowl.

Harry tries to ignore the recurring freakout in his mind that’s going _what the actual fuck, I got an acceptance letter and now I have to tell my mum because I’m a horrible liar and how did i even get accepted fuckkkk_ and instead focuses on adding marsh mellows to the bowl that’s currently full of broken strawberry Pop Tarts, chocolate snack cakes, and gummy worms.

He figures that maybe he’ll…just have to come right out and tell his mum that he’s not sure if doing it would be the right choice for him.  Maybe she’ll just understand, accepting his decision and allowing him not to go.

Maybe pigs will fly as well.

They eventually end up reclined on the living room couch, Harry sensing an impending stomach ache as one of his legs is rested over the armrest and Louis remains close to his side, his heavy head within inches of Harry’s shoulder.

Harry never knew it was possible to feel both panicked and completely at ease at the same time, but that’s exactly what he’s feeling right now as he rests his head against the back of his couch, his eyes blinking up at the dark outlines of the ceiling fan.

It seems as though every time the thought of the acceptance letter causes his trepidation to rise, Louis’ steady, soothing breaths causes it to go back down.  The boy is therapeutic—it’s confirmed.

The both of them are perfectly fine with the comfortable silence as they remain there, clearly worn out by all of the night’s events—Harry especially, since he’s had quite a slew of emotional ups and downs in just a few hours.

He’s feeling tired, hazy, and antsy, and his mind’s just not _clear_ enough.  That’s probably why he speaks without thinking after about ten minutes of relaxing silence.

“I saw you with that girl,” Harry says, his voice soft as he proceeds to swallow.

Louis doesn’t move or react, and Harry thinks for a second that the boy may even be asleep.

“You guys were going up the stairs,” Harry continues, knitting his brows together.  “Was that Fiona?”

There’s a pause, but Harry discovers that the boy’s awake when his fingers come over to gently trace against the skin of Harry’s forearm.

“Yeah,” he replies.

Harry nods faintly, his eyes growing heavy as it seems sleep now wants to take a hold of him.  “Did you guys do anything?”

He can feel the boy shake his head, his hair faintly brushing against Harry’s bare shoulder.  “That's what she was hoping for, but no.  Nothing happened,” Louis replies, before bringing his voice down to a whisper.  “Nothing ever did.”

Harry quickly feels as though a boulder has been lifted off of his lap, and he breathes deeply through his nose as he closes his eyes, his hand getting the sudden urge to hold Louis’ hand as the boy continues to draw patterns against his skin.  He feels almost dizzy with relief, because the image of them holding onto each other has been tormenting him for _hours_ now, and even though Harry still doesn’t know all the details, Louis’ clearly speaking in such a way that he makes Harry feel better about everything.

“Are you straight?” Harry asks gently, not even aware of what he’s saying before he’s saying it.  Immediately, those same alarms go off inside his brain because of how fucking _blunt_ that was, but now he can’t take it back as he waits for the boy’s answer.  He knows he’s been wanting to ask it, and it seems his mouth has taken things into its own hands.

He’s not surprised that quietude stretches the atmosphere of the living room, but he doesn’t suppose he’s made the boy uncomfortable, because Louis hasn’t changed in nature.

“Let’s not,” Louis says simply.  He shifts in order to get into a more reclined position on the couch in front of Harry, Harry moving his legs out of the way in order to make room for the boy and still not having processed the meaning of his answer.

“Let’s just not,” Louis repeats, sufficiently making a pillow out of his arms as he lays on his side along the couch.

Harry moves as well, getting into a reclined position right next to him, laying his head in his arms and mirroring him.

He wants to say about a hundred things right now as Louis stares back at him, sluggishly blinking eyes perplexing him in ways he doesn’t understand.  It’s clear the boy is not too far away from falling asleep.

“Okay,” Harry says instead, before turning around, suddenly feeling not as motivated to stare down the boy all night and now focused on acquiring some type of sleep.

He wraps his arms around his torso, not knowing if he feels good about Louis’ answer or not.  If this is supposed to give him hope or kill all of his dreams.  He chooses to gently shut his eyes, intent to fall asleep soothed by the gentle sounds of Louis breathing behind him.

He feels the tender tips of the boy’s fingers come up to his back, causing him to flutter his eyes open for a moment as he registers the contact.

The boy is tracing slow patterns against his shirt, just like he’d been doing earlier with his arm.

Harry relaxes into it, closing his eyes again as the feeling of the boy’s gentle hand working throughout his back pacifies any remaining tension that had been wreaking havoc inside Harry.

He knows he falls asleep before Louis, because he never feels the boy’s fingers leave his body.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so mf long im sorry
> 
> the struggle of trying to squeeze everything into a harry pov


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Louis has to roll to an abrupt stop on his skateboard once someone passes by him with a storm of various red and pink balloons attached to their backpack, all of which violently get into his face and occupy any sort of vision he has of the sidewalk ahead of him.

Louis turns around once the person passes by, already coming to terms with how done with the day he already is.  He’s _especially_ done with everything because today happens to be an imaginary, made-up holiday at his uni that’s been named “Campus Sweetheart Day”, and it has no real point, besides giving everyone a reason to be annoying about the fact that they have a special someone, and forcing Louis to have to witness it with a sick stomach.

He turns back forward with plans to continue skating forth, but at the same second, he gets bombarded by someone who doesn’t know where they’re going, and he falls straight on his ass.  The bag of what looks like tiny pieces of chocolate candy that they’d apparently been holding falls onto the ground all around him, the girl who’d been holding it quickly moving in order to pick them up frantically.

“Sorry,” she says hurriedly, shoving as many as she can back into the bag before she scurries away, calling for her friend who seems to be somewhere far away.

“I give up,” Louis says matter-of-factly, deciding that maybe today isn’t great for riding his skateboard.  He picks up a stray piece of candy the girl had left behind, intent to get some kind of benefit out of the fact that he’d just been attacked twice in less than thirty seconds, and he remains sat in the grass as he opens it. 

He twists his face once he realizes it has nuts in it.

“Having fun there?” he hears Niall say, not even knowing the boy had approached him as he shifts his eyes up.

He offers out his arm in order to allow the boy to pull him up, and he grabs his skateboard up off of the ground, holding it to his side.

“No.  I hate today,” Louis says, now walking alongside the boy.  

“I know right?  Just another reason to give the already annoying couples more chances to be annoying,” the boy replies. 

Louis lightly touches the boy with his elbow.  “Hey, I’ve got a ‘sweetheart’ gift for you though.  That is, if you like chocolate with nuts in it,” Louis says, holding the partially wrapped piece of candy out towards Niall.

“I’m not a romantic, but I _do_ love chocolate,” Niall replies with a grin, snatching the candy right out of Louis’ hand before popping it in his mouth and disposing of the wrapper over his shoulder.

“You _are_ a romantic though,” Louis says, blinking at the boy.  “You literally used to cuddle with Zayn before bed.”

“Yeah, but that was _platonic_ cuddling,” Niall replies, shaking his head.  “You know I don’t date.”

Louis nods in agreement, patting at Niall’s shoulder and shaking him around.  “Guess we’re both in the same club then.”

Niall’s face goes blank for a moment as he stares at Louis, the both of them continuing to walk among the many students on campus.  And then he bursts into laughter, causing Louis’ face to visibly show how confused he is.

“What?” Louis asks, looking puzzedly at the boy.

Niall’s growing out of breath as he continues to guffaw hysterically, even adding a few claps of his hands as Louis grows agitated.

“Nothing, man,” he says through short breaths, gently slapping a hand behind Louis’ neck as he shakes him around, just like Louis had done.  “Nothing.”

Louis points in the opposite direction as the boy brings a finger up to his eye in order to wipe away a tear.  “I’m gonna go to this council meeting, and hopefully the next time I see you, you’re less weird.”

And with that, he leaves Niall to continue attempting to gain control of his giggles as he starts off in the other direction, towards the building where the meetings are usually held.

Louis’ been particularly eager about their meetings as of recently, because the project they’re currently working on involves a movie they’re going to show on a big screen at the city park in order to raise funds for the organization, and they’ve already pre-sold an impressive amount of tickets, which delights Louis a great deal.

The meeting goes smoothly as they come to a consensus about what time of night they need to reserve that particular area of the park, what movie is going to be shown, and what their budget is going to look like in order to provide everyone with complimentary popcorn, as well as refreshing drinks.  Louis can already feel how much of a success it’s going to be, and he can envision them raising a lot of money off of this.

He lets the group know exactly how high his hopes are at some point in the meeting, his aim being to wash his positivity over everyone, especially since it’s starting to become clear, now that they’re holding elections for the next president and vice president, that this is going to be Louis’ last semester with them.  He really wants to leave on a positive, cheery note, and he intends to be just as enthusiastic and determined in every other meeting to come until he has to part with them.

This thought—the one that has to do with everything slowly coming to an end, knowing he’ll eventually have to say goodbye, and the fast-approaching future ahead of him, only reminds him of more saddening, disappointing things, like the fact that he hadn’t gotten accepted for the internship.

He just can’t fully be _distraught_ over it though, because _Harry_ got it, and he feels nothing but happiness towards the boy.  He simply can’t bring himself to be bitter about not getting it.  Not when Harry has it.

God, why did Harry have to come along and make it difficult for him to be properly mad about this?  By now, he’s spent _weeks_ stressing over the internship, and now that it’s confirmed he’d gotten rejected, all he can do is giggle and smile and tell Harry he’s proud.  What has _happened_ to him?

He’s just glad that he’s already gotten the harsh part out of the way, with his mother sighing sadly for him over the phone and his father not holding back in letting him know how much of a failure he was.  It’d crushed him just a bit, the reaction from his parents, but that was a while ago, and he’s over it now.

It’s been quite a while since he’d accepted the fact that he failed in that aspect, and now all he can do is move on and be happy for his best friend.  He’d underestimated Harry at the beginning, he won’t lie, and now Harry’s going to prove him wrong by moving onto bigger and better things. 

Maybe Zayn was right, and his life just isn’t meant to be headed in that direction just yet.  Zayn’s probably right about a lot of things, Louis now realizes.

 

~*~

 

Louis’ just reached the top step of his floor, his feet practically dragging against the ground as he moves toward his front door after a long, tedious (and also _Harry_ less) day of work.  All he desires right now is to throw himself onto his bed and hug the crap out of his pillow.  His hands are almost too tired to properly handle the key as he works to unlock the door, but after quite a while of irritation, he gets it open.

He doesn’t even get to push it open five inches before it’s being stopped, and he already knows what force has halted the door.

Liam appears, visible through the foot-wide sliver of the door he’s allowed the boy to open.

“What?” Louis asks boredly.

“The apartment’s mine for the weekend,” Liam replies simply, Louis beginning to roll his eyes before he even finishes his sentence.

“Liam, you’re not keeping the place to _yourself_ for the whole weekend,” Louis begins, already moving in order to push past the boy, but Liam intercepts him again.

“Yes I am,” Liam replies.  “Remember that favor I did for you?”

Louis presses his lips together as he thinks for a moment, not having a memory of Liam ever being kind enough to do whatever “favor” he’s referring to—

And then he remembers.

He fucking _knew_ there was a catch.

“Hey Louis!” Louis hears from somewhere behind the boy’s giant head, and he knows he shouldn’t be surprised at who it is inside his own flat instead of him. 

Louis tilts his head just a little in order to look past Liam, finding Zayn comfortably reclined on the living room sofa as he holds his pet lizard (Chamomile?  Louis’ not sure what its name is) in both hands, making kissy faces at it.

Liam continues to stare directly at him, his eyes sharp and bearing the usual air of hostility.  It seems there’s something mildly different about his stare though, but Louis can’t quite put his finger on it.  It’s almost as though…there’s a sort of faint redness behind his eyes?  But Louis’ not sure, so he brushes it off as he switches gears.

Louis slips into whiny mode, opening his mouth as he looks at Liam with the immaturity of a child.  “But—it’s not even the _weekend_.  It’s Thursday!”

“I wanna be alone,” Liam says, pushing a hand to Louis’ chest in order to back him away from the threshold, before swiftly closing the door.

Louis steps back, his eyes now meeting the chipped maroon paint of the front door as he feels sufficiently pissed off.  He wishes he were surprised by this.

He clenches his jaw, gritting his teeth together before he grips the strap of his backpack and turns around in order to make his way back down the stairs without a complaint.  He’s even too exhausted to _skateboard_ to Harry’s place, instead taking leisure steps as he curses himself for ever thinking it would be a smart idea to accept favors from Liam. 

His mood seems to continue on its downward slope as he nears the boy’s apartment building, dreading the frivolous journey up the stairs he’ll have to take in order to get to the second floor.

The bright smile that Harry’s wearing when he answers the door causes Louis to forget about his aggravation for a second, not even fully aware of the fact that he’s now grinning as he gives the horrid explanation of why he needs to stay there for the next few days.  He definitely shouldn’t be smiling, but he is.

“Of course you can stay,” Harry says once he’s done, his arms crossed as he leans against the door frame.

Louis breathes a sigh of relief as he moves in order to get past the boy, but he gets halted by Harry quickly sticking an arm out, gripping the other side of the door frame and blocking Louis’ path.

“Magic word,” Harry says

Louis narrows his eyes as he takes a step back, but the boy doesn’t seem to be budging as he grins lopsidedly and raises his eyebrows twice.

Louis lifts his hands uselessly, biting back a grin as he tries to conjure up some random word in his mind.  “I dunno—please?”

Harry shakes his head vigorously.  “No, I’m more creative than that.”

“Cheese?” Louis asks, Harry shaking his head once again. Louis steps forward with a breath of exhaustion, intent to get past this obnoxious boy by any means necessary.  “Bees, knees—Jesus Harry, for all I know you’re probably thinking of a word that doesn’t exist,” Louis says, before repeatedly poking the boy’s sides with both hands, causing him to immediately let his arm down in order to shove the boy away as he giggles uncontrollably, allowing Louis to succeed in getting past him.

Louis dumps his skateboard down on the living room floor, the familiar scent of their flat (which always smells oddly like mangos) already beginning to enter through his nose and provide him with a sense of familiarity.

“If you actually _tried_ ,” Harry says, coming up behind him as Louis works to slide off his now immensely heavy backpack.  “You would’ve figured out the magic word was Louis.”

Louis pauses his act of putting his backpack down on the couch, raising an eyebrow at the boy to portray how unimpressed he is.  “Really?  Thought you said you were creative.”

Harry gasps with offense as he approaches him, setting a hand against the couch.  “That _was_ creative.”

Louis fixes bored eyes on him, the boy trying and failing at attempting not to laugh.

“What?  I like your name,” Harry says, hoisting himself up in order to sit along the back edge of the couch.  “How was work?”

“I’m going to strangle Ted,” Louis replies matter-of-factly, hoisting himself up right next to Harry.  “His power’s really starting to get to his head.”

“Guess I stopped working there just in time, then.”

“You should definitely, just…come back,” Louis replies, Harry’s dimples appearing with amusement as Louis gazes at him with way too much hopefulness.  “It’s so boring working without you.”

Harry shrugs as he swings his feet underneath him, his heels gently hitting the back of the couch.  “There would be no point,” he says.  “There’s a lot of things I would do for you, but working for hours on end when I don’t have to?”  He shakes his head slowly as he scrunches his nose, Louis rolling his eyes as he pushes at Harry’s shoulder.

“You suck,” Louis groans.

“I mean…if you _begged_ me, then maybe,” Harry adds with a giggle.

“I’m half a second away from doing that actually, so you shouldn’t joke about it.”

“But I would work there again in a heartbeat if you got down on one knee and proposed to me.”

Louis bites down on his bottom lip as he grins, Harry raising his brows and shifting his gaze between the carpet below him and Louis’ face, as though he’s waiting on him.

“Sure,” Louis jokes.  “What would our last name be though?”

“Tomlinson.  Definitely Tomlinson.”

Louis furrows his brows, not even reacting to Harry hooking their ankles around one another.  “Seriously?  Styles is like, a top-notch last name.”

“Yeah, but _Harry Tomlinson_ has such a nice ring to it.”

Louis’ laughing thoroughly at the fact that they’re actually having this conversation, and he’s just about to test out how _Louis Styles_ sounds in his mouth before Niall’s emerging from his bedroom and walking into the living room with heavy feet, wearing nothing but his boxers as he seems to be headed toward the kitchen.

“Wait why’s Louis here?” Niall asks, his steps coming to a gradual stop as he points at the boy.

Louis has to go through the details as he retells the tragic story, starting all the way at the beginning when he’d made the mistake of finding a hero in Liam in the first place, and the boy’s face is beaming with excitement by the time he’s done talking.

“Fuck, this is like having my favorite brother move in!” Niall exclaims, already coming over in order to grip Louis’ wrist, succeeding in pulling him off of the couch in less than a second as he leads the way towards his bedroom.  “I should definitely give you the grand tour of my bedroom.”

Louis looks over his shoulder one last time at Harry to find the boy uselessly blinking, before he lifts a hesitant hand in order to wave at him.

Much time _is_ spent in Niall’s bedroom, because after Niall shows him his concert posters, and rubber band collection, and anime _figurines_ (Louis didn’t know a bedroom could get more customized than Zayn’s, yet here he is), Niall copies down all his notes from the class they share and they continuously talk and laugh about the dumbest of things.  Louis can’t help but notice that the boy is especially giddy, and it’s almost as though through all of their episodes of laughter and rolling over the bed with giggles, he doesn’t even remember that he’s half naked.  Niall’s a special guy, Louis believes.

Once _that’s_ over and Niall’s been peacefully lulled into a nap due to Louis simply attempting to study with him, Louis slides himself off of the bed with a huff, wondering when he's going to learn how to make studious friends.

Louis’ feet drag across the carpet of the floor as he gently closes Niall’s bedroom door behind himself, and he takes a moment to stand still and shake his head out a bit.  That boy is _quite_ a handful.  Louis still loves him though.

Louis pulls his hood on over his head with exhaustion as he takes the short journey just a little further down the hall until he reaches Harry’s door, and he pushes it once he finds that it’s already cracked open.

He finds Harry sat on his bed, knees pointed upward as his feet rest on top of his bed sheets.  Louis rubs at his eye with one hand and places the other deep in the pocket of his hoodie, grinning with adoration as he takes in the bunny slippers the boy’s wearing on his feet, the two fuzzy things seeming to be staring straight at him.

The boy seems to have been twiddling his thumbs upon his lap, only entertaining himself by his own thoughts before Louis had come in, and now he’s offering the boy a shy smile as he watches his approach.  It’s almost as though he’d been waiting for him.

“Had fun with Niall?” Harry asks, bringing down one of his legs to stretch in front of him.

 Louis giggles lazily, before coming up to Harry and finding a cozy bed in his lap as he rests on his side, on top of the boy’s thighs.  “He’s a character, yeah.  Is he always this hyper at home?”

Harry nods, shifting a little in order to help Louis get comfortable where he’s rested against his legs.  “Yep, pretty much.”

Louis sighs, pushing his eyeglasses further up on his nose before bringing his arms in to cross over his chest, trying to secure as much warmth from Harry as he can and practically burying himself inside of the hoodie.  He feels faintly like he could even take a nap like this.

“Can’t believe Liam did this to me,” Louis mutters.

Harry scoffs, digging his hand into the crook of Louis’ neck and succeeding in getting him to shy away as he bites back a breathy chuckle.  “Don’t act like it’s the worst thing in the world,” he whines.  “You’re with _me_.”

“I know,” Louis says with another sigh, pushing his hoodie off of his head once it starts to become too warm.  “I’m just stressed, and I have a lot of planning to do with the council, _along_ with upcoming tests, and I’d rather be in the comfort of my room and fall asleep surrounded by a mess of homework than on you guys’ living room couch, out of my element and distracted by how everything smells pleasantly of mangos.”

Harry’s already begun lightly giggling in response to Louis’ monologue, bringing Louis to shove at his stomach with the back of his hand.

“I’m being serious,” he says, eyes glancing up at the boy above him.

“Well, first of all,” Harry begins, bringing a hand out to gently set on Louis’ cheek.  “You’re definitely not sleeping in the living room like some stranger, okay?” 

Louis blinks up at him as his lips pull to the side a hint.  “And what are your solutions to my other problems?”

“If you need a distraction-free environment to study, I swear I’ll lock myself in one of our closets if you need me to,” Harry says, now poking curiously at the boy’s cheek.  “Just say the word.”

Louis laughs, toying with the fabric of Harry’s sweatshirt as Harry continues to mess with his face.  “I’d never do that to you.  Not when I need to spend time with you now more than ever.”

Harry groans, rolling his eyes briefly before speaking.  “Don’t...say that.  I hate when you say things like that.”

“What?” Louis asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Like, saying all that _oh I have to enjoy every moment with you because you’re going away_ type of stuff,” Harry replies.

Louis’ eyebrows furrow even more as he chews on his bottom lip, slowly beginning to shake his head at the boy.  “I mean, we’re absolutely going to remain close when you’re gone and you’re an idiot if you think I’m gonna allow us to drift apart, but we both know there’s definitely going to be a lot to miss when we’re not like…in front of one another, right in each other’s faces every day,” Louis explains, his voice quiet.  “So I’m not trying to take it for granted right now.”

Harry’s fingers stop where they’d been dancing across Louis’ cheeks, now simply rested there as Harry stares down at him, his eyes growing big in that same way they usually do when the boy has seen something interesting, seen something confusing, or is thinking deeply about something beyond Louis’ capability of comprehension.

Then, Harry lightly flicks a finger at one of the lenses of Louis’ glasses, causing him to blink abruptly before narrowing his eyes at the boy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I love it when you wear these glasses,” Harry says.

“Really?” Louis asks, rolling onto his back as he adjusts them on his face some more.  “I hate them.  Try to avoid wearing them by all means necessary.”

“They’re hot,” Harry comments.

Louis splays his hand over the boy’s chin, some of his fingers grazing his lips as he pushes the boy's face away obnoxiously.  “Shut up.”

They fall into comfortable quietness, Louis turning back on his side in order to bury his nose against the cotton of Harry’s shirt, really wishing he could just rest his eyes, but knowing he has to study at _least_ thirty minutes of history before he does that.

It hits him at the most random of times—like right now—the fact that he’s been blessed enough to have found a best friend in Harry, especially over such a short period of time.  He’s not exactly a shy person, but he’s not outrageously open either, so he finds it to be quite a gift that he was able to open up to, grow so comfortable with, laugh alongside until his lungs give out, and share the deepest corners of his mind with someone as wonderful as Harry.  He truly doesn’t think he’s ever had a best friend as genuine as this one, and sometimes he feels like he’ll burst with how happy he is for him in every way.  Happy that he is the way he is, confident enough not to let anything change that, happy that the path of his life somehow got crossed with Louis’, happy that he’s gotten this new opportunity and he’s going to prove himself to be amazing.  He just makes Louis feel…happy.  Louis’ pretty sure if he didn’t have the boy in his life right now, he’d be crumbling into a million pieces and frantically finding ways to pull himself out of the rubble of failure and self-disappointment.  Instead, he’s curled up on the boy’s lap, listening to him breathe and not quite being ready for him to leave.

“Don’t forget about me,” Louis mumbles into his shirt, his fingers itching for something to hold onto, although he’s not quite sure what.

“Never,” Harry replies just as quietly, beginning to run fingers through Louis’ hair.  “I don’t even think that could be possible, since I’ll be calling you every day—no, every _hour_ , giving you timely updates on what I’m doing.”

“I’ll be expecting reports on what you’re eating for breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner,” Louis demands as his words fade into a chuckle.

“Of course,” Harry replies.

Louis begins to shift in order to get up, even though it’s clear that his body’s against it.  “Ugh.  I have to read for history and—“

“ _Luckily_ ,” Harry begins, gently pushing Louis back down to a reclined position as he looks pointedly at him.  “You don’t have to get up, because I have my textbook right here.”

The boy leans over slightly as he reaches for where it’s apparently resting on top of his dresser, Louis’ lips parted in blatant disbelief.

“I didn’t even know you _owned_ textbooks,” Louis says, taking it out of his hand once the boy offers it to him.

“I always have, I just rarely ever used ‘em,” the boy replies with a shrug.  “Now I figured I should put forth some kinda effort, you know?  Finish the last semester off strong.”

Louis slowly pulls the book open as his mouth stretches into a yawn, the boy above him bringing a fist to his lips in order to cover it for him.

“Character development,” Louis comments as he flips to the first page of the current chapter, the boy above him grinning proudly with both rows of teeth.  “Now can you read the words on here for me?  My mouth is tired.”

“Anything for you,” Harry replies, holding one edge of the book as Louis holds the other.  He proceeds to read the draining details about the early Byzantine Empire as Louis’ eyes scan the page, and once again, Louis is beyond thankful for him in every sense.

 

~*~

 

Louis takes the ten dollar bill from the couple in front of him and exchanges it for a movie ticket, offering them a smile and wishing for them to enjoy the movie, which is an action he’s had to repeat several times by now.

He looks over his shoulder briefly as his fingers tap against the surface of the table they’ve set up in the park, and the projector _still_ isn’t on.  It causes him to pair the rhythmic tapping of his fingers with the movement of his feet against the grass as he becomes more anxious with every passing moment the projector’s not on.

The sky is dark and the main field of the park is beginning to fill with great amounts of students who’ve come with blankets, money, and friends in order to watch the movie they’re supposed to be putting on, and Louis’ pretty sure that since everything’s been going great for weeks of planning, it makes sense that _now_ things would begin to fuck up. 

He runs a hand through his hair as he faces back forward, putting back on his cheery smile as he meets the eyes of the next person in line who wants to buy a ticket.  He smiles through the knowledge that the projector’s fucking up, Alyssa is sitting next to him and processing ticket purchases with the speed of a snail, and due to the unexpected amount of people that have chosen to pay at the table, he’s not even sure if there’s going to be enough popcorn for everyone.

He figures he shouldn’t stress too much, because everyone seems to be enjoying themselves as they wait for the movie to start, but Louis can’t help the fact that he’s beginning to bite his nail in between dealing with each person in line.

He needs a smoke.

The thought causes him to excuse himself from his seat after giving out about five more tickets, Alyssa instantly looking up at him in confusion and helplessness.

“I’ll be back,” Louis assures her, patting her on top of the head before heading towards the main area of people who are spread out among the vast area of the park, situated in front of the projector.

He scratches his fingers through his scalp as he walks hesitantly, in search of someone, _anyone_ to fill his spot while he goes on a brief smoke break, but everyone else in the student activities council seems to be busy.

The first familiar faces he sets his eyes upon are Zayn’s and Liam’s, both of them laid upon a purple blanket, Zayn on his stomach, and Liam laid against the boy’s back with his arms under his head.  They look peaceful.  Too bad Louis needs to ruin that peace for a moment.

Louis approaches them quickly and squats down, pressing the pads of his fingers together as Zayn slowly shifts his head in order to look at him with a raised brow.

“I need someone to fill in for me at the ticket table _really_ quick,” Louis says.

“No,” Liam answers without missing a beat.

“ _No_?” Louis asks incredulously, looking at the boy with wide eyes as he begins to grow thoroughly fed up.  “I let you in without making you pay for a ticket, I—I fucking _gave_ you the apartment for an _entire—“_

His words are put to a stop once Zayn’s finger literally comes up to his lips, his mouth making gentle shushing noises as he properly gets Louis to shut up.

Zayn suddenly turns over on his back, which prompts Liam to sit up since he’d been resting on top of him.  Zayn sits up, gently cupping a hand around the back of Liam’s neck before bringing him in exceptionally close, seemingly whispering something into his ear as Louis watches with inquisitive eyes and jittery hands.

Zayn slides his hand from the back of Liam’s neck to the front of his chest, simply stroking his skin with a practiced delicacy as he speaks gently, and Louis can swear he’s never witnessed Liam actually _listen_ to someone as much as he’s doing right now.

Then, Liam turns to Louis, his face slightly less hardened as he gets up to his feet.

“What do you need me to do?”

Louis stands up right along with him, speechless for a moment as he rubs his hands together and blinks at the boy with huge eyes. 

What has Zayn _done_ to him?  And more importantly, can he teach _Louis_ how to do it?

“Um…I,” he stammers, before deciding to just lead the way in order to give the boy a demonstration without sounding like a broken record player.

“If you let anybody past without making them pay, I _will_ know, and I won’t be happy,” Louis says once he’s finally got Liam sat in the chair and has told him all he needs to know.  He places both hands on the boy’s shoulders as he stands behind him, moving him around with enthusiasm.  “Good luck.”

He backs away from the table in order to turn around and search for a faraway spot to tend to himself, but he doesn’t get too far before his name is being called by Liam.

Louis turns right on his heel, hesitantly approaching the boy as Liam’s now staring at him from where he’s sat in his seat, the line beginning to gradually pile up.

Louis crouches down once he's near him, raising his eyebrows at the boy as he joins his hands together.  “What’s up?”

Liam seems to be having a few difficulties preparing to say whatever it is he has to say as he opens his mouth slightly, his fingers beginning to dig at his jeans as he furrows his eyebrows at some point beyond Louis’ head.

And then Liam suddenly reaches out, his arms abruptly pulling Louis in as Louis grows severely confused. 

Is Liam…hugging him?

It becomes clear that he _is_ when he feels the boy’s hands rub at his back, and Louis doesn’t quite know how to feel about this.  Nevertheless, he brings his indecisive hands up in order to return the random embrace, patting at the boy’s sides as he draws his eyebrows together with puzzlement.

Liam presses a single chaste kiss into the side of Louis’ neck before he pulls back, holding the boy firmly on either side of his arms as Louis remains more bewildered than he’s ever been in his life.

And then one side of his lips curves upward, although the microscopic movement of it can hardly be seen, and then he just turns back forth in his seat and begins his task of tending to the people in line.

Louis slowly stands up, his hands uselessly held out in front of him as he blinks profusely, and he has absolutely no fucking idea of what just happened. 

He also doesn’t know why it’s caused him to feel much more settled once he finds himself a place to be alone in order to smoke.  He feels like there’s been a spell cast on him, if he’s being honest—a _good_ spell, though.  One that has to do with being a little less irritated now that his flat mate is _finally_ beginning to show that he could possibly work towards being a decent person.

It does just a little to help his stress and anxiety as he settles against one of the faraway park benches, away from the lights of the “movie area” as he takes several drags out of a cigarette and endlessly messes up his hair because he can’t seem to stop fiddling with it.

Although the majority of his stress can be attributed to the screen that’s still _not_  working right now, there are several other things stressing him out at the current moment.  Like the fact that he _still_ has more tests to come before the end of the semester.  Or the fact that he’s going to have to make a decision about where he wants to go for graduate school in just a few days.  Or the fact that Harry’s leaving fairly soon.

He rubs at his nose as the cigarette remains between his fingers, his head hung down as he looks at his knees and tries to calm himself.

It seems so unlikely that Harry would be the cause of his stress, but that’s exactly what’s happening.  The boy’s days are dwindling down and Louis doesn’t even have enough time to pause and embrace the boy, squeeze the life out of him so that he’ll never get away.

Of course, he doesn’t _actually_ want to hold Harry hostage and keep him from leaving though.  Obviously.

But he just needs a moment…one last moment—an entire _day_ , even, to just be with him.  He just wants to look at him.  Stare at him until he has to leave for the airport.

Louis blows a considerable amount of smoke out from between his lips before rubbing at his eyes, wishing everything would slow down for just a moment.

Louis decides that he can’t just sit there and drown in all of the turmoil for the rest of the night, so he eventually pushes himself back up to his feet and stomps out the cigarette on the ground before making his way back over to where the tickets are being sold.  He pleasantly finds that the line is moving fast and the projector actually has _audio_ now, so that’s good.

He slips back into his seat after offering Liam a genuine “thank you”, and he gets through the repeated shock of the boy hugging him tightly one last time before he goes back over to lay down with Zayn on top of their blanket.

Louis once again shrugs it off as he gets back into ticket-selling mode, moving quickly in order to get everyone in, since the movie’s supposed to be starting in ten minutes.

“Enjoy the movie,” Louis says almost mechanically, holding out the ticket for one of the viewers as his mind is already set on the next person in line.

He’s taken aback when, instead of simply taking the ticket, the person gently grabs his _hand_ , which brings Louis to lift his eyes up in order to see who this person actually _is_.

Harry.

He breaks out into a genuine grin for the first time in several minutes as he looks up at the boy, already pushing himself up from his seat and ignoring the sound of Alyssa huffing with frustration.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Louis says, rounding the table in order to accept the hug that Harry already has his arms outstretched for.

“You told me about it.  Why wouldn’t I be here?” Harry mumbles into Louis’ shoulder as his arms stretch across the boy’s back.

“Guess you have a point there,” Louis replies as they pull back, both losing control over their warm smiles.

“So what movie are you guys playing?” Harry asks, placing his hands in his back pockets as he looks around and rocks on his feet.

“ _Sixteen Candles_ ,” Louis replies, his eyes going tired.  “And don’t ask, because it wasn’t  my idea.”

Harry grins regardless as he raises his eyebrows, nodding his head as though he’s feeling it.  “Actually, that’s an eighties classic.  You should be honored to show that movie.”

“By now I’ve watched it a thousand times since my mum has it on VHS,” Louis replies.

Harry reaches out a hand, ruffling up Louis’ hair as he positively coos, Louis jokingly shoving him away.  “Awww _Louis,”_ he teases.  “I can definitely imagine cute little Louis, with his red overalls on and his giant hat, sitting in front of the television with his teddy bear—“

Louis smacks the boy’s hand away from his hair.  “Shut _up_ ,” he mutters.  “I’ll make it my duty never to get you and my mother in the same room ever again.”

Harry seems genuinely hurt as he hangs his mouth open dramatically.  “But I _love_ her—“

“Louis?  Hello?” comes Alyssa’s voice from where she’s sat just a few feet away at the table.  Louis blinks at her for a moment, before his eyes slowly wander over to the growing line that definitely needs to be regulated.

Louis sighs as he presses his fists together.  “Guess I have to get back to…” Louis begins, pointing over his shoulder as he backs away.  “This.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, followed by a heavy breath as he scratches behind his head.  “I’ll just be over there with Liam and Zayn, I guess.”

Louis leans against the table, preparing to slide back into his seat as he raises his eyebrows at the boy and appears impressed.  “Third wheeling a _movie_ _date_?  You’re brave, Styles.”

Harry grins crookedly as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his drug rug hoodie.  “I mean, it’s not like I have anyone, or something,” he says, his voice almost quiet as he stares off for a moment.  He’s silent for only a few seconds more, Louis feeling a weird itch to do _something_ , although he’s not quite sure what, but then Harry perks back up, starting in the direction of Liam and Zayn’s blanket as he walks backwards.

“See you,” he says happily, throwing two fingers of peace up at Louis before he turns around.

Louis turns back around as well, setting his focus back on being the ticket person (did he ever even agree to this?  He seriously doesn’t remember agreeing to this), although it’s quite difficult once he keeps thinking about Harry sitting there, isolated from Liam and Zayn since they’re probably going to cuddle during the movie.  Harry deserves better than that.   _Way_ better.

The movie properly starts much to Louis’ surprise, and the line even begins to shorten once they’re ten minutes into the beginning.  Louis repeatedly keeps glancing over his shoulder to look at where the three of them are sat on the blanket, although it’s mildly difficult because of how the lights are now turned off in order to give everyone the “theatre experience”.

Through the dark outlines of their bodies against the movie screen, however, Louis can see that he’d been right.  Liam and Zayn are cuddled pretty close as they lay across one side of the blanket, and Harry’s sat on the other side, his knees up to his chest as he blinks up at the screen.  It doesn’t seem like he’s actually paying _attention_ to the movie, though—it’s more like his eyes are glazed over.

Louis only lets a few more minutes pass before he pushes his chair back and decides it’d be no fun to host a movie sit-in and then not even _watch_ the movie.

“ _Louis_ ,” Alyssa whines almost immediately.

“The line isn’t as long anymore,” Louis claims, gesturing at it as he backs away.  “You’ll be fine.”

Despite the great amount of disapproval she’s wearing on her face, Louis turns around in order to make his way over to their blanket.

Once Harry notices him as he approaches, the boy’s eyes absolutely glint with enthusiasm as he looks up at him, biting on the corner of his lip in an attempt to conceal his smile.

“You joined me?” Harry asks quietly as Louis gets settled in next to him.

Louis spreads both of his legs out in front of him as he nods, his eyes already attached to the screen.  “The ticket table isn’t as fun,” he replies, nicely bumping his shoulder with Harry’s as he shrugs.

It seems that’s all the explanation Harry needs as they fully concentrate on watching the movie, Harry now looking as though he’s actually _watching_ it—which only makes Louis realize that he’s not.

It takes some effort for him to pull his eyes away from Harry’s profile, the features of his face washed over with the changing lights reflected from the screen, his eyes glorious as he seems quite invested in it.  He’s a nice looking boy, really.  Objectively.  Anyone with eyes can see it.  Which is why Louis doesn’t understand why he’d come to this thing alone.  Do the guys at this university not realize what a catch he is?

Louis decides to shake the thought away, turning his gaze to the right and finding Zayn and Liam still folded on top of each other, except now, they’re asleep.  Although Louis’ still not sure of how he feels about Liam, it’s obvious they’ve both found a perfect match in each other, because for some reason, they just seem to _fit_.  At least _something_ good is coming out of the end of the semester.

Louis looks down for a moment as he blinks, reminding himself that _hello,_ Harry doing the internship is another good thing as well.  Right.  It definitely is.

 _The movie,_ Louis reminds himself, bringing his eyes right back up in order to watch it, figuring that’s better than thinking about dumb, selfish things.

He succeeds in fully engaging himself in the scenes like everyone else, and he doesn’t know how or when, but he eventually ends up tangled with Harry, restfully situated in front of him with his head settled on the boy’s right thigh.  It’s where he’s most comfortable.

They remain that way all throughout the rest of the film, Harry’s fingers occasionally brushing at the strands of his hair in sort of a lulling way that has Louis fighting against falling asleep. 

“Thanks for getting my undies back,” Louis says gently under his breath, mouthing the words just as Samantha says them without even realizing.

Harry nudges at his back, causing Louis to tilt his own chin up in order to look up at him, their eyes locking as Harry seems pleasantly impressed.

“I told you,” Louis says.  “I know all the words verbatim.”

He fully expects Harry to grin the sweet way he does as he tickles at Louis chin, but what he doesn’t expect is for the boy to mouth along the next few words as Samantha continues to speak.

 _Thanks for coming to get me_ , the boy mouths, right along with her as he beams down at Louis.

Louis perks with enjoyment, sitting all the way up as he continues to keep his eyes locked to Harry’s.

“Make a wish,” he whispers, now amusedly grinning as he leans his weight against his hand that’s buried in the blanket.

Harry’s got the sweet, innocent essence Samantha has in the final window scene down pat as he whispers her next lines in perfect sync. “It already came true.”

Louis’ very amused now, because it’s clear Harry is just as knowledgeable about this movie as he is, and for some reason, it’s increased his adoration for the boy, even though he’s not quite sure how that’s possible.

He leans into the boy at the same time as the boy leans into him, just as the scene calls for, since it’s the grand finale moment where Jake and Samantha finally kiss.  Harry has sort of an anticipatory twitch to his lips as he comes in, his eyes growing in size with every second their eyes lock, and then his gaze slides downward.

Louis pushes the boy’s face away with a hand to his cheek, causing Harry to erupt in airy chuckles as Louis bites back a grin.

“You’re no Jake,” Louis laughs, not even knowing why he’s still attempting to be quiet now that the movie’s over and everyone’s applauding enthusiastically.

He hardly even registers the fact that Harry’s said something as he looks around, already beginning to dread having to get right back to work in order to clean everything up.

“I could be if you wanted me to,” the boy had said, his voice unusually low and quiet as Louis stares at him in complete darkness now that someone’s shut the projector screen off.

Louis opens his mouth in order to utter something in response, but he’s not sure what he wants to say, and he’s not sure what’s _happening_ , and he’s not sure why Harry looks so uncharacteristically hot-blooded right now, his eyes bearing a deepness that makes Louis wish the lights were on.

“ _Louis_!” someone yells to his right from relatively far away, and Louis turns to look over his shoulder and find that the members of the council in charge of audio are in need of serious help in order to put all the cords back up, which reminds Louis that he’s vice president and should probably get off of his ass.

He gives Harry two gentle pats on the chest before he stands up, stretching his arms out along with the several other people who are doing the exact same as he skips his way over to the other side of the park and begins tending to his duties.

Everyone appears to be preparing to make their way out, dispersing to different areas of the park or going straight to the parking lot in search of their cars, but Louis wishes they’d be just a bit faster, because he’d really like to get out of here and go straight home in order get some shut-eye for at least twelve hours.

It takes about a half hour for the park to appear to be mostly empty, and most of the council is working on cleaning things up so that they don’t get fined by the city, Zayn and Liam left at some point when Louis definitely hadn’t been paying attention, and Harry is…still here.  Waiting patiently, it seems, which fills Louis’ heart with warmth and comfort and all that disgusting stuff, because he feels like he could get quite used to someone _waiting_ for him.  Enjoying his presence.  Wanting him around.

He just wishes it doesn’t have to go away as soon as it comes.

Harry even ends up helping them carry out one of their last chores of picking up the substantial amount of trash that’s been left on the field, especially since Louis is mostly left to do it himself now that most of the members have snuck off (Louis will tell them off later).

He and Harry end up making the activity of picking up trash abnormally exciting, just as they do with pretty much everything when they’re together, and Louis finds himself holding open a trash bag as Harry throws several different pieces of popcorn bags, cans of soda, candy wrappers, and the occasional hat into it.

“Garbage basketball should definitely be a sport,” Harry laughs at some point, coming over in order to pick up a wrapper by Louis’ feet that had missed the target.

“What, so you can find even more things to excel at?” Louis asks, looking up at the boy as Harry pulls the bag open in order to drop the wrapper in.

Harry shakes his head as he scoffs, walking a few steps over in order to pick up several pieces of popcorn that are scattered over the grass.  “I don’t excel at everything.”

“I’ve literally _watched_ you,” Louis says.  “Can’t believe there was once a time where I thought _I_ was the best at everything.”

“No one’s the best at _everything_ ,” Harry replies, walking back up to Louis before dropping a slew of kernels and popcorn into the garbage bag.  “But I can name a lot of things you’re perfect at.”

“Really?  Like what?” Louis asks, crossing his arms as he continues to hold limply onto the bag, the heels of his feet coming off of the ground briefly.

“Uh…” Harry begins, pursing his lips as he backs up to the nearest table and leans against it with his hands behind him.  “Making good grades, actually caring about things like studying— _and_ ,” Harry adds, pointing at Louis as something else comes to him.  “Looking pretty while doing it.  That takes a lot of talent and multitasking.”

Louis scratches behind his ear as he shakes his head, bending down in order to pick up additional pieces of popcorn as he mutters Harry’s words under his breath.  “You’re ridiculous,” he says softly, followed by additional laughter.

They fall into a nice quietness afterward, Louis occasionally catching the boy grinning at him with a subtle glance in his direction as they spread throughout the park.  It happens for several minutes, actually, Louis knowing the boy is watching him with that fond, innocent air he usually wears whenever he looks at Louis, and he doesn’t know why, but it causes a thought to form in his mind—one that’d been present for a good portion of the night by now.  It takes him ten minutes to decide to actual _verbalize_ that thought, casting it into the quiet, open air.

“You weren’t…um,” Louis starts, stammering just a little as he coughs lightly and concentrates on tying up the trash bag in his hands.  “You weren’t actually going to kiss me, right?” Louis asks, providing half of a chuckle towards the end of his sentence as he glances over at where Harry is now sat on the grass, concentrated on the contents of his phone. 

His eyes shoot upward immediately after the question is asked, however, and he pockets his phone as his lips begin to curve on one side, almost in sort of a cheeky fashion.

“Well…it _would_ be acting,” Harry begins.  “And acting requires dedication.”

“Really?” Louis asks, far from convinced as he finally gets the heavy thing tied up.  “Since when are you a dedicated actor?”

Harry slowly shifts onto his feet in order to get up, his hands placed in the pockets of his colorfully striped hoodie as he shrugs nonchalantly.  “I’ve always been.  You’d be surprised by some of the ways I flex my acting skills every day.”

Louis raises his eyebrows in response, the both of them now coming to stand within a foot of each other as Louis keeps his arms crossed over his chest.  “You _act_ around me?” Louis asks.  “You know you don’t have to.”

Harry’s already shaking his head with a grin before the boy’s finished speaking.  “No, I do,” he assures him, the tone of his voice seeming as though Louis should know this.  “Otherwise, you’d know I…uh,” he begins, scratching gently at his cheek for a moment as he looks down at Louis’ chest and fumbles his words.  “I—let’s just say you’d _know_ things.”

Louis blinks at him for a few seconds, swallowing as he watches Harry begin to become just a little unsettled.  He allows the silence to continue for just a moment before he speaks with a blunt edge.  “Okay you’ve lost me.”

Harry brings his eyes back to Louis’ as he messes with his own ear, his fingers seemingly restless.  “It’s okay.  Don’t worry about it,” Harry says, smiling once again.  “Just know…I’m a very dedicated actor.  _Very.”_

Louis grins in return, although he feels he’s missing a large portion of what this conversation is even about.  He’s perfectly content though, because it seems something comforting is brewing behind Harry’s eyes as they begin to hold that usual glint.

“You never let me finish the scene, though,” Harry suddenly says, his voice a pure whisper as it seems he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.

Louis feels himself go completely still as he takes the time to let the boy’s words slide themselves into his ears, and…he doesn’t know what to say.  Well, he _does_ know what to say, but his mouth’s not moving.

He continues to remain perfectly still, not knowing exactly when he and Harry had gotten so close. 

It seems as though they’re both watching each other’s eyes closely, waiting for anything to happen as the park remains almost mystically silent, Louis becoming hyperaware of every single breath Harry’s taking as they grow closer.  If Louis didn’t know any better he would think they were the only two on planet earth right now, because that’s how mute any additional noises have become.

It feels like the boy’s leaning in without actually _doing_ it—as though there’s some imaginary pull happening that’s causing him to drift closer with such a slowness that it’s almost unnoticeable.  There’s a faint crunch of grass heard from below as it seems Harry simply places one foot forward, and the same pull is also causing Louis’ conflicted eyes to begin studying his gaze, the smooth bridge of his nose, the area right above his upper lip—

A particularly loud, jolly tone cuts into the silence quite harshly, causing both of them to pull away with instant confusion smeared across their faces.

Harry’s phone.

Harry immediately takes several steps back in order to answer it, his back now facing Louis as he speaks pseudo-casually. 

It feels like Louis’ feet are stuck in place.  It’s as though somehow, at some point when Louis hadn’t been looking, he’d been cemented down and forced to stay in this exact spot, because he can’t figure out how to move anymore.  Or talk.  Or _breathe_.

He brings his fingers up to his lips as his mouth begins to shake just a hint, his gaze not fully concentrated and centered on anything, even though his eyes are situated upon Harry as the boy now takes slow, aimless steps, muttering something to Niall about where the remote is, it sounds like.

Louis can feel himself dissociating, the one arm that’s still crossed over his chest beginning to hug himself even tighter. 

He doesn’t even realize that Harry’s walked back up to him until the boy speaks, causing Louis to nearly jump out of his shoes as his eyes shoot to focus on him.

“That was just Niall being Niall,” Harry says with a laugh that seems just a trace less authentic than usual, shaking his phone in the air.

Louis stands there for a moment, whatever had corrupted his body still overpowering him in some way as he just looks at Harry, and then he simply snaps out of it, flashing the boy a grin as he nods.

“Yeah, I figured,” he jokes back, taking some steps away from the boy as he pulls the sleeves of his shirt past his fingertips out of a need for something to do with his hands.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, sighing for a moment before pressing his lips together.  “I guess I should help you finish up—“

“Actually, I think I can do it myself,” Louis says, attempting to sound as nice as possible as he goes over to pick up the garbage bag he’d tied up.  “No need to go out of your way.”

“I’m totally fine with helping,” Harry replies.  “Don’t you still have to get all the other equipment they left behind into your car?”

Louis swings the bag over his shoulder with a grunt, preparing to take it over to the industrial garbage container at the edge of the park and already dreading how exhausting it’s going to be.  “Yeah, but I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure—“

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis says, adding just a hint of an edge to his tone as he now sets his eyes directly upon the boy’s, even with how far they’re standing from each other.  The silence they usually share is much thicker this time around, Harry’s face falling just an inch, which shows Louis that he understands.

“Okay…I’ll uh,” Harry begins, pressing his fist against his palm as he swings his arms back and forth.  “I’ll go.”

It may just be the wind or something, but the boy’s voice seems to fade just a smidge at the word "go".  Louis figures this is probably why he doesn’t say anything else, like “see you” or “bye” once he turns around, blending with the darkness of the park the further away he grows.

Louis allows himself only five more seconds to watch him leave, even though he can no longer see him. 

Then he simply turns around, pushing whatever unearthly desire that’s beginning to consume him back down his throat.

 

~*~

 

Today’s the day.

Technically, _tomorrow’s_ actually the day, but Harry’s leaving during the ungodly hours of the morning to catch the express bus in order to reach the airport, and Louis has class early in the morning, so he’s going to use tonight as a means of farewell.

He’s just gotten out of work after having to close the entire place on his own, which took quite a while, seeing as it’s just about twelve a.m. as Louis pushes his left foot off of the ground and glides through the silent night.  He’s not speeding down the sidewalks and streets with jittery hands and blood coursing through his veins, because he’s not in a significant rush to get to Harry’s place right now.  He and Harry have made a point not to treat this like some grand goodbye, because they both know that not much is going to change, if anything at all.

The boy keeps reassuring him that he’ll be back after the few months away are over, but Louis doesn’t want him to rely on that in order to get through it, because _Louis’_ not even sure he’ll still be living here.  In fact, moving had always been his goal, and if everything goes according to plan, he definitely won’t be here when and even if Harry comes back.

All they have to do is give their little quick goodbye and trust that, although things are swiftly changing, the both of them will stay the same.

Louis’ focused on right _now_ , the fact that the boy is currently still within arm’s reach for a few more hours.  He’ll think about that other stuff later.

Once Louis reaches his place and has begun walking up the stairs with his skateboard clutched to his side, he can see from a distance that the front door to the boys’ flat is cracked open just a hint.  He gets to the top of the stairs and drops his skateboard down in order to rest it by the railing, now beginning to hear the moderate murmur of voices coming from inside of the flat.

Louis pushes the door open, and his eyebrows raise only briefly once his eyes are met with the living room, which has just a few more people in it than usual.

Most of them don’t seem to realize Louis’ arrived as they continue a conversation about some recent football game, but Harry instantly notices, turning his gleaming eyes toward the boy from where he’s sat on the couch, just having been in the middle of listening in on their discussion.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry greets him, his voice obnoxious and almost creepy, causing Louis to snort as he steps forward.  He comes to find that Harry’s wearing his famous roller skates as he sits, causing Louis’ lips to stretch into a warm grin.

“I didn’t realize you were throwing a party,” Louis replies, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“’Sup dude,” one of the guys says to him, extending out a hand as he sits in the bean bag chair by the sofa.  “Just wanted to spend some time with him before he goes, ya know?”

Louis hesitantly clasps hands with him as he nods, before taking notice of the cap he has on, the bright, white greek letters displayed across it, and _now_ he knows who these guys are.  Omega Sigmas.

“You should’ve been here earlier, it was hilarious.  They were teaching me how to speak with a posh accent,” Harry says with a pleased grin as he looks up at Louis.  He makes a point to scoot over just a few inches, clearly signaling to Louis that he wants him to sit there.

The space between Harry and the edge of the couch is quite small, but Louis goes over to sit anyway, because he can never deny Harry when he’s looking at him with those innocent, child-like eyes that seem to be inspired by everything.  Those things have been Louis’ weakness for a long time now.

Louis gets settled in next to him, listening in on their rather amusing conversation and joining wherever he feels comfortable.  He can admit though, he would’ve liked to have had Harry to himself for the last night before the boy leaves, but he figures he just needs to remember that the boy is not his property.  It’s moments such as these where he's reminded that Harry’s had a significant, memorable impact on many people’s lives (pretty much everyone he touches), and _not_ just Louis’.  That’s made quite clear as he watches the boy interact with them, all of their faces lit with adulation as they listen to his every word.

Louis ends up tapping against his thighs as Harry sits next to him, the boy leaned forward with his hands on his knees as he laughs hysterically at something Niall had said (the boy emerged from his room after a “wonderful nap” and has decided to join them).

Louis hardly even registers it when his fingers go from his own thigh, to tracing over Harry’s lower back leisurely.  It seems Harry doesn’t realize it either, because his composure doesn’t change as he continues to converse with the rest of them. 

So Louis continues to run his fingers gently across the lengths of the boy's back, which is something he’d begun doing occasionally that he finds Harry really seems to love.

Louis eventually sets his elbow down upon the boy’s back, before bringing his head down in order to rest the side of his face against his own arm, finding comfort on top of Harry.  Harry _does_ react to this, but only in a very subtle way as he pauses talking for a brief second, before leaning forward in order to allow Louis to be more comfortable and continuing to speak.

Louis continues to lay there on top of Harry, and with every passing second, he feels the stress of the day he’d just endured begin to lift away, drifting through the air and disappearing before his very eyes, all because he’s with Harry now, and Harry is bustling with energy, and Harry’s _here_.

It only brings him to think about how that’ll no longer be true in the near future.  Twenty-four hours from now, he won’t have this to soothe him and provide him with a much-needed refuge from the demanding outside world.

He can’t imagine waltzing into this flat that’s become like a second home to him and _not_ being able to see the boy any time he wishes.  He loves Niall and Zayn—of _course_ he does—but Harry is…special.  There’s simply something _about_ the boy that’s noteworthy and undoubtedly different in a way that Louis’ never really felt towards anything before, and he really doesn’t know what he’s going to do without the boy’s physical presence for so long.  The boy somehow fills a vacancy in Louis that he didn’t even know he had.

At some point, Harry makes the announcement that his feet are killing him and that he needs to do away with his roller skates, and he moves to push himself up to his two unsteady feet.  Right before he does that, however, Louis feels the boy give his wrist a subtle, yet quick and firm tug, bringing Louis to quickly understand as he gets up right along with him.

He grants Harry an arm to hold onto as he leads the way into the bedroom, the boy rolling behind him with heavy feet.

Once they enter the room (Louis suddenly wondering what’s going to happen to the room once the boy leaves), Harry’s sat on the edge of his bed, working to remove the skates from his feet as Louis closes the door behind himself.

Harry brings the first skate up to his face once he gets it off, blinking at it closely and stroking the shoelace.  “I’ll miss you,” he whispers, before throwing it aside.

Louis crosses his arms where he has his back rested against the door, furrowing his brows at Harry.  “You’re not taking your skates?”

“Nah,” Harry replies, successfully freeing his left foot before proceeding to roll around his ankle.  “Don’t think they want me rolling around like some idiot at such a _prestigious institute_ ,” Harry says, adding a mocking, posh emphasis to the words.

Louis faintly shakes his head as he continues to cast serious eyes upon the boy.  “You know you don’t have to like, _change,_ right?”

Harry nods in understanding as he pushes himself up to stand from his bed, stretching out his arms to their maximum length and walking over one of his half-full suitcases as he moves toward his dresser  “I know.”

Louis watches him as he digs through the chaotic mess on top of his dresser.  “I just wanna take it seriously, you know?” Harry says.  “My mum, she’s uh…really excited for this.”

An endeared grin slowly begins to replace the slightly saddened look Louis had held on his face as he steps forward, his hands deepening in his pockets.  “I bet she’s extremely proud of you.”

Harry presses his lips into a grin, looking at Louis briefly as he pulls the acceptance letter out from the rest of the mess.  “Yeah.  You could definitely say that.”

There’s a nice silence that settles between them as Louis simply watches the boy with a cozy grin, figuring that if there’s any moment he should take to just stare at the boy and admire him while he’s here, now is the time to take it.

“Your intriguing stories and fascinating views on life…” Harry sort of mumbles through breaths, Louis knowing the boy's reading the words on the paper as he’s done several times by now.  He sets the acceptance letter down, proceeding to run a hand through his hair and sufficiently ruffling it up.  “I still can’t believe it says that,” he adds with a light chuckle.

“I mean, it’s true,” Louis says, walking forward as only a few feet remain between them.  “You _are_ intriguing.  I can just imagine the wacky shit you put on that application.”

Harry lets out another one of his gentle laughs, although he’s not looking at Louis as his fingers poke at the pink cupcake box (Louis had learned a while ago that he kept it, although he doesn’t know why) that rests within the mess on top of his dresser.

“I completely understand why they chose you.  You’re fascinating, just like it says,” Louis continues.  “And wild—and just _interesting_.  You’re probably the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

Harry glances at Louis out of the corner of his eye as his fingers now hold the frayed ribbon partially attached to the decorated box, his lips curving on one side only briefly.

“I can’t wait until I don’t have to suffer through you saying things like that anymore,” the boy says.

Louis goes from sweet to mildly confused as he raises an eyebrow at the boy, making a questioning noise.

Harry properly looks at him now, his crooked grin stretching wider as he chuckles some more and traces his fingertips along the edge of his dresser.  “It’s okay that you don’t understand,” he says.  He brings both hands up to the back of his head as he messes with his hair, Louis simply continuing to watch him with glaring obliviousness.  “You’ll never understand.  Fuck,” he says in sort of a breathy, laughable fashion.

“I _could_ understand if you would tell me,” Louis says, setting a heel out on the ground in front of him as he looks at the boy with nice eyes and a hopeful smile.

There’s a pause as Harry stares at him, his face shifting just a hint as it becomes clear he’s contemplating letting Louis in on whatever outlandish thing is going through his mind. 

Then he just shakes his head, erupting into more lighthearted giggles.

“Nah, you’re good,” Harry decides, coming up to Louis and placing an arm around the boy’s shoulder as he pulls him in.  “We’re good,” he repeats, leading them both towards the door as Louis remains in a state of slight puzzlement.

They join everyone else right back outside of the bedroom, Louis taking his former place on the couch and re-immersing himself in the relaxing warmth he’d found upon Harry’s back as they slide themselves into whatever entertaining topic is currently being talked about.

After some drinking games (that neither he nor Harry participate in), a lengthy, yet endearing recall of many of the times they’d had with Harry, and a bit of roughhousing (which sadly separates Louis from Harry as the boy gets pulled into a playful chokehold), Louis decides that maybe he should call it a night.  It’s nearing two a.m. and he has to wake up at eight—no, _six_ in the morning, because he _has_ to draft his final essay right before he goes to class, since it’s clear he’s not getting that done tonight.

Once the boys decide to move the party into the kitchen in order to satisfy their appetites, Louis gets to his feet, yawning into his hand before announcing his departure.

“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna head out, since it’s getting late,” Louis says.

Harry’s head snaps to him immediately after he says it, the boy pausing where he has both hands braced on one of the guy's shoulders and had been half a second away from helping himself to a piggyback ride.

He then turns around, quickly walking his way back over to the boy as the rest of them offer him their goodbyes.  “I’ll walk you out,” Harry says, swiftly grabbing his jacket that’s hung over the back of the couch as he approaches the boy.

“Okay,” Louis replies, watching as the boy slides an arm into each oversized navy blue sleeve.

He doesn’t object to Harry putting a gentle hand on his lower back as he leads him towards the front door.

Once they’re outside of the flat, Louis finds that the light above the door has been turned on, which provides him with a better view of the boy in front of him as he closes the door behind him, the glowing spotlight yellowish-white.

They stand there for a moment with their gazes both uncertain and hopeful, Louis becoming aware of every feature of the boy’s wondrous stare as he stands in front of him.

And then Louis opens his arms, muttering a “C’mere.”

He pulls Harry in, the boy falling right into it as he steps forward, seemingly determined not to leave even an ounce of space between them as he embraces Louis just as tightly as Louis’ embracing him.

“I’m not gonna miss you,” Harry mumbles, burying the words into his shoulder.  “I’m not gonna stop bothering you long enough to allow that to happen.”

Louis keeps him at arm’s length once they pull away, stroking his thumb at the material of the boy’s jacket.  “I’m not gonna miss you either.  Especially with how many times we’ll be calling each other a day.”

“Totally,” Harry replies with a nod, although there’s a faint weakness in his voice as he itches at his nose.

Louis pulls him right back in, holding him tight in an effort to squeeze all of the potentially negative emotions out of him.  He presses everything he can into it as the boy’s embrace even causes him to stumble backwards a little, which brings him to giggle into the boy’s jacket.

When they finally come apart, Harry appears sufficiently hugged out as they grin at each other with ease.  Louis makes sure to keep his expression light, even though the reality of the situation is slowly starting to weigh in on him.  He wants—no, he _needs_ the last image Harry has of him before he goes to be one that shows how proud he is, so that he can use it to get through his months away.

“Okay,” Harry begins, his face growing increasingly blank as he lazily salutes with his hand, backing away.  “Catch you later, then.”

Louis nods, scratching the bottom of his neck as he stares back at the boy.  “Bye, Harry.”

He steps back and away from the boy, intent to turn around, grab his skateboard off of the ground, and somehow get home in one piece so that he can maybe, uh, _cry—_

He doesn’t even get to take two steps away before he feels fingers reaching out, digging into the crook of his arm and quickly turning him around.

“Fuck it,” Harry breathes, and Louis hardly even gets to open his mouth in surprise before the boy’s lips are being pressed against it.

Louis’ eyes close almost instinctively, his entire being still not properly adjusted to the fact that Harry’s lips are gently tugging at his, the boy continuing to hold onto his arm with a soft hand.

The kiss lasts for two seconds, their lips languidly folding over one another only twice as Louis’ hesitant hands come up uselessly—

And then he pushes his fingers to Harry’s chest, shoving him back gently and causing their lips to come apart.

Louis’ sure he’s never felt the absence of sound so blatantly as he stands there, staring at the boy with growing eyes, the boy seeming as though he’s not quite sure if he wants to gaze at the boy’s eyes or his lips. 

Once Harry acquires a bit of focus, solely beginning to concentrate on the loud, almost manic stare of Louis’ eyes, it seems that something starts to click within him as he closes his mouth.  His jaw tightens just a touch as he swallows, the immensity of both what he’d done and how Louis had reacted to it gradually starting to become clear to him. With every falling inch of his face, it's evident that he’s seconds away from completely shattering.

So Louis grips the material of his shirt and pulls him back in.

Their lips come together once again, Louis’ mind now a muddled clutter of emotions, ranging from panic, to fervency, to a pure lack of understanding of whatever it is he’s feeling as he seems to dissolve into the kiss.  His fingers are idly rested against Harry’s chest as the boy has both hands caressing the lower region of his back, pulling him in as slowly and carefully as the delicate glide of their mouths.

Louis doesn’t know how long it goes on for—he’s not sure if it lasts for only ten seconds more or if it goes on for a full minute, because his mind is nothing but a haze of brimful nothingness as he begins to feel his back gently pressed into the railing of the stairs.

Their lips come undone with an unmatched slowness, Louis already beginning to feel the protruding chill of the night against his mouth instead of the warmth Harry had been breathing into him as he opens his eyes.

He’s certain he’s never shared eye contact this intense with another person in his life prior to this very moment, Harry removing his hands from Louis’ back as he retreats with one step.

Louis’ lips are parted wordlessly as he watches the boy fold his hands over one another, and it’s clear that both of them share the exact same state of mind as they ponder over what’s just happened, what they should say, _if_ anything should be said.

Harry continues to back away, briefly running his tongue over his bottom lip as he offers Louis a sort of nod, Louis not knowing if it’s in goodbye or hello or _what_.  All he knows is that the boy proceeds to reach for the doorknob behind him, pulling it open and allowing the general murmurs from inside the flat to fill the air and remind Louis they aren’t the only ones on earth right now.

With one last, hardly noticeable nod, he lets himself back inside, the door swinging closed behind him and leaving Louis alone with the hotness of his lips, the whirring of his thoughts, and the thumping of his chest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~
> 
> that five year time skip tho hmmm i wonder when it's coming


	9. Chapter 9

  _~FIVE YEARS LATER~_

 

 

Harry narrows his eyes to a fair degree as his pen hovers over the paper he has in front of him, blinking for a moment as he processes what someone actually chose to write down as an answer.

He’s currently marking quizzes that he’d given his students over information on the book they’re reading as a class, titled _House of the Scorpion_ , and he’s pretty sure he’s just read the most obnoxious answer he’s seen all school year.

The question on the handout for the quiz is simple: Can you name five character traits Matt shows in Chapter Two?

It’s probably one of those easier questions that could even be answered by a person if they didn’t read the book and just went for it, which is why Harry’d put it on the quiz.  He looks out for his students in ways like these whenever he can.

Jonathan, the student who owns the quiz he’s currently _grading,_ however, took the more comedic route in responding to the question, his answer being: _no but can you?_

It causes only a microscopic curve at the right side of his lip before he suppresses it, moving his red pen in order to mark the answer wrong and leave a note for the boy: _you lost ten points but thanks for the laugh_

He continues his work of vigorously marking several graded papers that really, he should’ve gotten to a long time ago, which is why they’re tragically piled up on top of his lap.

He brings his feet up onto the desk chair he’s sitting in as he remains in the corner of his bedroom, the papers stacked on top of his work binder as he successfully exercises focus and serious concentration until he can’t anymore—which happens after about half an hour.

He rolls his chair back with a sigh, setting his many materials upon the velvet sheets of his bed and thinking that after so much grading, he should definitely allow himself a lengthy break of relaxation.

His eyes trail down to the worn-out bunny slippers on his feet as they remain on the edge of the seat, and he tugs at the ears boredly, just a few seconds from blaming his lack of focus on these evil, fuzzy things.

He rolls over to his desk, formally called his “work area”, and grabs his laptop right off of the surface, figuring that using the internet in order to check his emails would still qualify as being productive.

Much time is spent browsing the web on his laptop as he aimlessly rolls around the room in his desk chair that he’s known for a while is _way_ too fun and distracting, and _after_ enjoying an endless chain of interesting, connected YouTube videos, playing computer games that’ve been deemed “the world’s hardest”, and doing online typing activities in order to figure out what his typing speed is (he went from 85 WPM last week to _92_ today), he _finally_ gets around to checking his emails.  He’s not surprised to find the usual; emails from the principal that he sends to all of the teachers, which usually don’t possess any information he doesn’t already know, emails from _other_ teachers asking for favors which he’ll get around to thinking about later, and one email from an upset parent who wants to know why their child isn’t doing too great.  Harry replies to the last one with a quick answer about how her daughter consistently makes bad grades, “secretly” texts her life away in class, and shows up late on test days, and that if she wants a parent-teacher conference, he’s totally down for it.

After checking emails, he’s pretty sure he’s at that _certain_ point everyone experiences where they start conjuring up random “imperative” things to do when they’re actively procrastinating on something, Harry being the seventh grade teacher who’s procrastinating on marking the hundreds of papers he has left.

He checks voicemails on his phone, which is something he’s had to recently remind himself to do once a week when he’d discovered, after getting snapped on by the head of the English department after he hadn’t responded to an important one, that people still actually leave voicemails.  He doesn’t know why though.

He’s allowing every message to play out loud as he works on getting his window open, desperate for some type of natural, cool breeze in his room that’s beginning to get just a bit stuffy.  That’s exactly what he gets once he slides it open, his eyes meeting the rush of the city down below and the fire escape right outside his window as he sets his elbows along the windowsill.

Luckily, his voicemails don’t contain information too important as he listens, and he’s greatly thankful for that.

He spots the regular group of pigeons far down below where they often gather near the apartment building, their beaks poking at little scraps of food, as well as wrappers that litterers don’t care to pick up, and Harry’s lips begin to form a grin of admiration as he rests his cheek against his fist and listens to a voice message from some telemarketer.

Harry goes over to his desk in order to slide open one of the drawers, instantly finding the tiny zip locked bag full of tiny pieces of bread that he usually keeps in there for whenever the pigeons come around.  He shuffles back over to the window on his slippered feet, already digging into the bag in order to prepare to give those wonderful birds something to eat that _isn’t_ trash.

Harry succeeds in doing this, sprinkling the little pieces from his hand as he remains seven stories above them, and they’ve already begun gathering down below and causing Harry’s heart to warm up.  He’s just reached into the bag and is situated to drop some more when something stops him cold in his tracks.

He couldn’t really _hear_ it, due to having his head pretty much stuck out the window, but the _voicemail_ —it sounded…weird.

With a push of his hands against the windowsill, he brings his head back into his bedroom, going over to quickly sit in his desk chair and grabbing his phone off of the desk.

The voicemail’s finished playing by now, but Harry stares at his phone screen, his eyes studying the number and his mind attempting to decide on what the next plan of action should be.

Harry simply stares at it, not with his eyebrows drawn together, not with a foggy mind, not with his fingers scratching against his head.  His eyes are expanding wide, and he feels just a touch of flush on his skin.  He knows exactly whose number this is. 

He’d know these ten numbers anywhere.  He’ll know them for the rest of his life, he’s quite sure, even though he tries so hard to forget them.

His thumb hovers over the replay button, because he knows he shouldn’t—he knows with everything in him, but _fuck_.  He _wants_ to.  He’d barely even _heard_ the man’s voice from where he was outside of his window and it still triggered this great sensation to wash through him like an ocean current. 

Fuck.  He can’t believe he’d _missed_ this call.  What was he _doing_?

It’s only from two days ago, and it shows that it happened around the time that Harry’s usually lecturing his class, so he’s ninety percent sure he instantly shut his phone off when it’d started ringing.  It’s just his own rule for both the class and himself: no phones out during the class period.

Harry’s thumb continues to idly rest in the air by the play button, something rushing through his chest as he continues to contemplate listening to it.

With one quick motion as he closes his eyes, as though he’s a spy who’s just hit the red button, he presses it, bringing it up to his ear as it begins to play.

_Hi, it’s Louis Tomlinson.  I was just calling to invite you to my sister’s wedding that’s taking place later on next month, and it would be great to have you there.  Call me back for the details, okay?_

And then it ends, and all is silent once again.

Harry opens his eyes as well, just a bit alarmed at how he’d forgotten to breathe in the many seconds that voice message went on for.

He swallows whatever’s beginning to build in his throat from how long it’s been since he’s heard his voice.  He hasn’t heard his voice in _so long_.  He hasn’t heard his voice in so _fucking_ long.

And it’s a wedding invite.  He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

All he _does_ know is that he plays it again, disregarding the actual content of the message and instead focusing on the familiar, nostalgic sound of the man’s voice, the gentle, delicately high pitched tone it's always had, and he places his hand over his mouth as he fights to keep everything down that wants to burst out of him.

He’s breathing deeply through his nose as he continues to replay it, his head thrown back in his chair and his mind beginning to go through the steps the man had to take in order to send it—or even to _call_ him.

He’s sure the man doesn’t have his number anymore, so he probably had to get it either from Zayn, Niall, or Liam, which means he _asked_ them for it and none of those traitors told him.  And _then_ he had to dial the number, which is what he did two days ago, and he probably held his phone up to his ear as he did whatever it is he does on a Tuesday at eleven in the morning, and ultimately he got sent to voicemail.  Harry can’t help overanalyzing everything, wondering if it made him sad or if he was indifferent about it and proceeded to leave the almost mechanical voice message.  Maybe he sent the same kind of thing to everybody.

 _Why_ would he invite Harry to his sister’s wedding?  Harry’s never even met his sister, and he and _Louis_ haven’t spoken since the Stone Age.  This only strengthens Harry’s theory that he’d just called a bunch of people and said the same practiced things time after time.

As Harry’s replaying it for what’s probably the twenty-fifth time, something clicks in his head—something sad and borderline depressing.

The man had never said his name.

Obviously, he’d just gotten a long list of unknown numbers and tried his hand at calling them all, clearly interested in the guest list for his sister’s wedding rather than the actual people he’s calling. 

It brings a sort of pained, somewhat-chuckle out of Harry’s lips as he rubs at his eye, torturing himself as he listens to the man introduce himself as _Louis Tomlinson_ yet again.

Even with Harry’s mind spiraling out of control as he thinks about it all way too much, it still feels…weird.  Listening to the man speak after such a long time.  It reminds him of a faraway period when he used to listen to the man for hours—which only reminds him of just how long ago that was.  He doesn’t know how to feel, but he just keeps replaying it.

When he finally decides that maybe it’d be best for his health to stop playing it, he simply keeps his eyes set on the phone screen, looking at the numbers and wondering how everything took such a…turn.

“What’s up?” comes the voice of Caleb once he enters his room, his heavy work bag hanging off of his right shoulder and his other arm holding up plastic bags of what looks like the Chinese food they usually get.  “Just thought I’d drop by.  Figured you were hungry.”

He pauses once he’s within a few feet of Harry, slowing his movements as he drops his work bag onto the ground by the wall and laughs amusedly.  “Why are you staring at your phone like that?”

Harry shakes his head, pulling his feet back onto their spot upon his chair as he locks his phone and sets it aside.  “No reason,” he replies, watching as Caleb walks over to set the takeout down on his desk.

“No reason?” he asks, leaning down to press his lips against Harry’s cheek briefly, bringing Harry to grin with both dimples.

Harry blinks up at him with big eyes, gently shaking his head as Caleb’s face begins to show his slight doubt.

“C’mon, H,” he laughs, going over to lift himself in order to sit on top of Harry’s desk, Harry rolling around his chair and facing him.  “You know you can’t hide things from me.”

Harry shakes his head, parting his lips as they share eye contact.  “I’m not.  It’s nothing.  Really,” Harry says, pushing himself up and dusting his hands off before lifting the bags of takeout off of his desk.  “What about drinks?  We should drink something with these.”

He’s already prepared to leave his bedroom in order to focus on _that_ instead, but he only gets about a foot away before he feels Caleb tugging at the back of his t-shirt, quickly pulling him back in.

“You’re gonna tell me, right?” he says quietly, his hand splaying across the skin right above Harry’s waistband as he holds him.  “It looked like something was bothering you.”

Harry breathes just a bit harshly, nodding his head and reassuring the man thoroughly.  “It’s not a big deal, but yeah,” Harry says, moving to walk away again, intent to reach the kitchen.  “Just c’mon, because I’m starving.”

It seems that he finally gets Caleb to drop the subject once they’re both in the kitchen talking about their days to each other, Harry reflecting on how eventless, yet serene his day has been before proceeding to ask Caleb how work was.  The man works as a registered nurse at one of the local hospitals, which is why he’s wearing his pale green scrubs under his jacket right now.  Harry has always found him to look extremely cute in the scrubs, even though Caleb despises them.

He listens as Caleb complains about having had to clean up after one of the patients that unexpectedly vomited, which Harry’s not so sure he needs to hear while he’s in the middle of stuffing his face with lo mein.

“It was fucking gross,” Caleb mutters, digging his fork around in his plastic container as he rests his elbows against the kitchen island.

Harry knits his eyebrows together with a hint of sympathy, not for Caleb, but for the sickly patient.  “I mean…she’s sick, isn’t she?” he asks, feeling sorry.

“No, she just has an abscess that has to be surgically drained, and she got nervous so she blew chunks,” Caleb explains, and _this_ is what allows Harry to properly let loose and stifle a giggle into his wrist.

Caleb laughs along with him as he shakes his head, sucking his teeth profusely.  “I swear I need a break from this,” he says, before stuffing his food in his mouth and talking through it.  “I have a few vacation days I haven’t used anyway.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have any actual _vacation_ planned,” Harry replies.  “It’d just be a waste, and then when you actually have a vacation, you won’t be able to use it.”

“I’m willing to take the risk,” Caleb replies.  He brings his eyes up to Harry for a moment, something beginning to gleam in his eye as he grins at the man.  “How do you feel about spending a few days in The Bahamas?”

Harry laughs as he shakes his head, knowing there’s no way in hell that’s going to be possible.  “You’re very funny,” he replies, moving in order to dump his finished to-go box in the trash.  “But I don’t need a vacation, anyway.”

“Come on.  I know you’ve gotta want a break from dealing with those snot-nosed kids.”

Harry’s lips part as he looks at Caleb, coming back over to rest his elbows on the counter and show how severely offended he is.  “I _love_ them.  And they’re not snot-nosed, okay?” Harry replies with a finger in the air, although Caleb seems all but convinced as he bites back a grin.  “They’re practically teenagers, and they know how to blow their noses.”

“Whatever,” Caleb says, resting his chin against his palm.  “We need to get invited to things so that we can have an excuse to get off of work.  We need to know more people.”

Harry bites down on his lip as he feels something shift in his stomach, but he ignores it, moving his lips into a grin as he faces Caleb.  “Nah, we’re fine,” he says, speaking to Caleb although his eyes aren’t focused on him anymore.  “Just fine.”

 

~*~

 

Harry slips into his classroom with two minutes to spare due to the highly unexpected traffic he’d had to endure this morning, but it’s still refreshing to find that most of the class is there and _on time_ as he slides his bag off of his shoulder, approaching his desk.

“Okay, so where’s the uh… _stuff_ we’re supposed to get for being on time?” one of his particularly outspoken students named Mel asks, many of the other students joining in agreement as they sit on top of desks, converse with their friends, and work in order to finish up homework at the last minute.

Harry scoffs, logging into his computer in order to pull up the video on Shakespearean sonnets he’d planned on showing them today.  “C’mon.  That was a one-time thing,” he laughs, many of them pointedly groaning.  “Don’t you think you’re too old for candy anyway?”

“ _No one’s_ ever too old for candy,” Jonathan says, coming up to his desk and placing both hands against the surface as he leans close in order for Harry to hear.  “And if you wanna slide me a Twix, that’d be great, and we can keep it between us.”

“I’d be glad to do that,” Harry replies, turning to him with an eyebrow quirked up as Jonathan eagerly waits for his chocolate bar.  “But only if you can name five character traits Matt shows in Chapter Two.”

Jonathan’s face slowly changes from the smug, pleased expression he’d been wearing to one of uncertainty as Harry easily grins up at him.  The boy wrinkles his nose just a little, shaking his head slightly as he backs away from a now highly amused Harry.

“I’ll get back to you on that one,” he says, shooting finger guns at Harry as he makes his way back to his seat.

Harry shrugs with delight before turning back to his computer and waiting for the usual eternal length of morning announcements to come on.

Once that’s over, he starts the period off with the normal routine of quick questions that usually go over what was discussed in the last class, and he’s always pleased by how enthusiastic his students are to answer everything.

“So who can name and define the ten foreign phrases we went over?”

Ameenah is quick with shooting her hand up in the air as she always is, but it doesn’t really matter when she ends up speaking out loud anyway.  “I can name all of them in my _sleep_ ,” she yells, before proceeding to do so, and rather quickly.

Harry believes that the magnitude of how impressive that was definitely deserves an award, and Harry reaches into his work bag, because of _course_ he’d brought the little bag of fun sized candy.  He brings it every day, and it’s a great way of keeping incentive up.  Sometimes he just pretends he’s done with it so that the kids don’t get used to it.

He throws her a tiny bag of gummies from across the room which she graciously catches, and the entire room grows even more enthusiastic about answering questions than they’d already been.  They begin speaking over each other every time Harry asks a question, one of them even blurting out a blaringly wrong answer.  When the rest of the class ends up erupting in taunting laughter in response to that, Harry ends up throwing the kid a piece of Hershey’s anyway, because at least he’d tried.

The rest of the class period is pretty much smooth sailing, because the lesson for the day is quite simple and easy to grasp. The students remain engaged for the fifty minutes he has them before they have to switch periods and Harry teaches yet another class, and with every passing hour, Harry’s mind comes up with a new funny thing he can say in relation to the topic of Shakespeare, and by fourth period, he’s pretty sure he’s a comedic genius.

He always tries to keep his classes light and fun, because he knows that’s exactly what he wanted classes to be like when he was younger.  He doesn’t even make the students call him Mr. Styles—he gets really uneasy at the sound of it.  It’s either Harry or Mr. Harry, unless one of the heads of the building is in class watching him teach, in which case they’ve cooperated in swiftly switching to calling him Mr. Styles, as well as using words like “May I” and “Sir”, pretty much creating an inside joke between all of them.

Most of the kids are either twelve or thirteen, which is the prime age where students are either easy and innocent or rebellious and blatantly disrespectful because of changes and puberty and whatnot, but Harry does his best to make everyone feel comfortable enough when they’re in his room. 

It’s during lunch period when Harry’s in his classroom alone, snacking on a bag of chips he’d gotten from the vending machine and finishing up marking several papers.

He’s not surprised when his door swings open abruptly, and in comes Niall, with his pleasant blue sweater with the white collar coming out underneath it, rushing up to Harry with an illuminating smile on his face.  He pulls one of the desks in the room all the way up to Harry’s, sliding into it hurriedly and looking like an overgrown student.

“ _Stick figures_ ,” Niall says.  “They’re fascinated by _stick figures_.”

Harry’s lips are pulled to the side in a crooked grin as he faintly shakes his head at the man.  “Your stick figures _are_ pretty detailed.”  Harry also knows, judging by the few art assignments he’d given out in the past, that many students here are artistically challenged, which is why it would make sense that they’re impressed by Niall’s mediocre drawing skills.

“Holy _shit_ I can’t believe it took me so long to realize how much of a gig this job is,” the man says, leaning over in order to shove at Harry’s shoulder excitedly.  “I’m getting _paid_ to do this.”

Harry rolls his eyes to a small degree as he digs his hand into his bag of chips.  “Yeah, but don’t forget about the important things.  The stuff that actually matters,” Harry says.  “Like, the children.  And teaching them.  And actually caring about teaching them.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Niall replies, lazily waving him off.

By now, Niall has had many jobs, including working as a bartender for quite a while, starting his own growing business selling thermo-gloves (which was actually beginning to take off before he got bored and quit), and becoming a part of the crew for some amusement park on the other side of the country.  There are definitely a few more very short-lived ones he’d tried out, but it’s obvious the man has no plans to maintain a solid career, which is perfectly fine, because he seems absolutely content. Currently, after months of referring the man to his colleagues and putting in a good word after the art teacher had retired, he’d helped Niall secure a solid teaching job at the school as an art teacher, and the man appears to love it more than anything in the world.  Harry’s not so sure his fulfillment will remain just as strong for months to come, but for now, he’s glad his best friend is working with him instead of running around and making himself hard to reach.

They talk and laugh as Niall helps himself to Harry’s bag of chips as well, just enjoying each other’s company as they always have, and probably always will.  Harry had been happy at this job long before Niall had come, simply because he likes working here and loves his wonderful students, but he’s acquaintances at best with most of the other teachers, and Niall being here is beyond refreshing.

“Hey, you didn’t happen to uh…” Niall says at some point, scratching inside of his collar as he leans an elbow on Harry’s workspace, tipping the small student desk forward just a bit.  “Like—have you gotten any calls recently?”

Harry pauses where he’d been halfheartedly crossing an “x” over a wrong answer, his heart beginning to beat just a hint quicker.

Niall laughs with huffs of breath that seem less authentic than before.  “Just calls,” the man continues, shrugging awkwardly.  “Like from weird numbers…or—“

“Yes, Louis called me,” Harry replies boredly.

Niall appears to let out a breath he’d been holding in as he settles back in his seat.  “Thank _God_.  I was afraid he’d invited everyone but you for a moment there,” the man says with a sigh of relief.  “Didn’t wanna offend you, and stuff.”

“Nope, that’s not the case,” Harry replies, continuing to look down at his work.  “Surprisingly.”

“So we’re totally going on a road trip before we attend the wedding, right?”

Harry actually stops moving his pen across paper, looking up at Niall and attempting to stop his eyes from widening.  “I…I dunno—“

“God, come _on_ Harry,” Niall says exhaustedly.  “It’s gonna be so much fun—“

“I haven’t even run it by Caleb yet, and—I’m…I just don’t…” Harry stammers, shaking his head as he feels everything’s beginning to rush in a direction he’s not prepared for.

Niall blinks at Harry with tired eyes, tilting his head to the side in order to show how exceedingly displeased he is by this.  “Seriously.”

“Yes, _seriously_ ,” he replies, attempting to extinguish the conversation by abruptly getting up from his desk and working on erasing everything that’s on the whiteboard.

It doesn’t work, because Niall just gets up from the student desk, coming over to where Harry’s stood, wiping the board vigorously with a clenched jaw.

Niall crosses his arms pointedly as he approaches the man.  “You guys have only been dating for a few weeks—“

“A month and a half,” Harry corrects him, stilling his hand for a moment as he grips onto the whiteboard eraser.

“ _A_   _month and a half_ , excuse me,” the man replies, putting both hands up before continuing.  “And you’re already letting him call all the shots.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, finally looking at the man as he sets the eraser back down against the edge of the board.  “No I’m _not_ ,” he claims.  “I’m…I’m just not even sure if _I_ want to go.”

Niall’s face falls into one of pure discouragement as he looks at Harry, his lips parted as though there’s something he has a desire to say, but he’s not sure if he should say it.

There’s silence encompassing Harry’s classroom for a moment, Harry feeling a sudden urge to swallow one of those bumps of emotion down his throat again as he rubs at his nose.

Niall takes one step forward, his voice at a quieter level than it’s been all afternoon.  “Harry,” he says.  “It’s been five years.”

As quiet as he is, the words are still ear-splittingly loud in Harry’s ears, simply because of the way they’re said.  The man says it as though he pities Harry, as though Harry should’ve gotten over this _years_ ago—which he _has_.  He definitely _has_ and he would appreciate it if Niall stopped acting like he hasn’t.

Of course the rest of them want to go.  Of course they all want to see their best fucking friend.  Of course they’re eager to see Elizabeth get married, because unlike Harry, they’ve met Elizabeth.   _He_ hasn’t.  He has no reason to go, and he’s fairly certain he’s not even wanted there.

Harry walks over to his desk, his fingers fiddling with the blue stapler that rests on top of the surface as he feels Niall’s eyes on him, neither of them saying a thing.

“Can I just grade these in peace, please?” Harry asks gently, keeping his eyes cast down.

Niall stands there for a few more seconds before it seems he decides to comply, and without another word, he gives Harry a sympathetic head nod before heading out and leaving Harry alone.

Harry slides back into his seat slowly, settling into the cushion and languidly blinking down at his desk.

He just…

He can’t stop thinking about how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other.  Spoken to each other.  _Touched_ each other.  Of course, he’s past the point of missing it, because he’s got a lovely boyfriend and he’s perfectly happy now, but still.  It’s something to think about.

He pulls open one of the drawers of his desk, grabbing his phone that’s inside of it.

His thumb moves in order to navigate him back to his voice mailbox, and he takes another long moment to stare at the numbers again with blank eyes.

In an almost automatic movement, his thumb presses to play it again, and he brings his phone up to his ear, promising himself that this is the last time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis presses his lips together with a huff as he continues to click between several windows on his computer, growing absolutely certain that his mind is slowly beginning to turn to mush.

He’s been working diligently for many hours now, coordinating the schedules of the senior managers very precisely, holding lengthy conversations on the phone regarding appointments that are to be made with Robert (the chief executive), and pretty much being used as the rag doll for both his executive and the rest of the employees and clients to throw around.

It’s driving him just a little stir crazy, how long he’s been sat at this desk doing tedious work.  Most of what he does (although he’ll never say it out loud) is Robert’s dirty work, and as he goes into the sixth hour of simply sitting in this work space and paying strict attention to detail in order to organize schedules, he’s fully convinced the man is on the top floor in his huge office, kicking back with his feet on the desk as he probably handles phone calls with his wife.  Because _Louis_ has taken every single one of his calls today.

He’d had a meeting earlier today that went well for the most part, but everything was downhill from there, as it often is.

Now he just looks forward to getting home, _not_ having to look at the four walls of his office anymore, hopefully taking some pain pills in order to soothe his growing headache, and getting a nice sleep before having to come back in the morning and do this all over again.

He sets a firm elbow on the desk, running a hand through his hair and beginning to feel as though his tie is digging into his neck.

He hears a brief knock at his door, and he blows a sigh into his palm before verbally letting whoever it is know that they can come in.

“Did your tie do something to you?” Kimmy asks as she enters, bringing Louis to realize how vehemently he’s pulling at his tie.

Louis laughs for half a second, deciding to rest his hand against the table as she comes in order to sit in front of his desk.  “I’m just really ready to go.  Guess it’s got me a little irritable.”

“Aren’t we all,” she replies nonchalantly as she flips open the pristine white binder she’d been holding in her hands.

She proceeds to talk to him about the documents she’s come with that he needs to look over and sign, and try as he might, he can’t bring himself to fully listen to what she’s saying as it seems his mind has checked out for the day.

“I don’t know what this is I’m signing,” Louis mumbles as he lazily drags his pen across the signature line of one of the administrative documents.  “But I’m just gonna sign it anyway, because I’m tired.”

“No worries.  I’ve already looked everything over for you,” she says nicely, before flipping the page over for him so that he can sign yet again.  “Nothing’s being put at risk here.”

“Awesome,” Louis replies.  “That’s why I’m so grateful for you.”

Louis pauses once he’s done, his eyes catching the prideful grin Kimmy’s now wearing across her face.

“Do you like weddings?” Louis asks, as sort of an afterthought.

Her face shifts a bit as she displays how much the question threw her, but she eventually grins once again.  “Yeah.  They’re always so much fun,” she replies with a giggle.

“Great, then you’re invited,” Louis replies, already shifting back to his computer in order to prepare to forward her the email with all the info.

She appears to be pleasantly surprised as she brings a hand up to her chest.  “You’re getting _married_?”

Louis breaks into laughter, shaking his head as his hand flits across the keyboard.  “ _God_ no,” he chuckles.  “It’s my sister.  She’s been driving me crazy stressing about how she wants me to invite every single person I know.”

She’s quiet for a moment as she seems to think about something, Louis almost done with successfully forwarding her the email.

“I haven’t heard anyone around the office talking about it,” she replies confusedly.

Louis turns to her, bringing a finger up to his lips and making a gentle _shhh_ sound, which she quickly understands as she begins to smile.

“I get it,” she says as she nods her head, starting to pull the documents off of Louis’ desk and beginning to reorganize them with everything else.  She stands up from her seat once she’s done with that, leaving out with quiet feet and a pleasant grin.  “You have a nice day, Louis.”

Louis nods enthusiastically in response to that, finding himself once again empty after being left alone in his office, and he presses his pen against the temple of his head as he rests his mind for a while.

He knows it would be best for him to just go ahead and finish scrutinizing the schedules now so it won’t pile up tomorrow, but his concentration for the day has been worn absolutely thin.

He rests back in his chair, his hands joined together as his elbows lean on both armrests, and he thinks about the wedding.

That’s _one_ thing he definitely is looking forward to—he’s pretty sure it’s what’s been getting him through his recent work days.

He just can’t wait to utilize his vacation days for work, not have to look at this desk anymore, and not have to answer to Robert’s every beck and call. 

And also see his sister get married, and get the family together once again, and all that stuff.

He eyes his phone where it’s resting on the surface of his desk, face down and quite a far distance away from him.  He always keeps it mostly out of the way so that he doesn’t get distracted by it while trying to accomplish his tasks, and usually it works.

Except for today.

He reaches for it and flips it over in order to _briefly_ check if he has any missed messages or calls.  He isn’t surprised to find nothing of the sort, because it’s only been about four hours since the last time he’d checked it.

He slowly turns it back over, not knowing why he’d even checked it anyway. 

As though he would actually get a _call back_ …

He blinks repeatedly, shaking his head before moving away from his phone and preparing to continue just a few more hours of repetitious busy work.

Once he’s finally released in order to go home and finds himself in the front seat of his car, smack in the middle of the parking lot with the night closing in on him, he’s not sure why he just sits there.  His hands are fiddling in his lap and his eyes are pretty much glazed over as he stares at the steering wheel, and all he can think about is his phone that lies in the passenger seat next to him.

He brings his eyes over to the device, just staring at it and moving his fingers over one another in a slightly jittery manner. 

He eventually gives in and reaches for it once again, checking the screen in order to see if he’s received any form of communication since he’s last checked it.

Nothing.

He sighs, tossing it back onto the seat before twisting the key in the ignition, deciding to forget about whatever sprinkle of hope he’d had and just go home.

The condominium he lives in is a notable distance from work, and he has to suffer through an abnormally great number of red lights as he makes his journey there.

The only part of the day he discovers he’s grateful for once he finally finds himself stepping out of his car, is that his place is on the first floor and he doesn’t have to take a frivolous journey from the parking lot in order to reach his front door.

He enters through his door with thoughts of making himself a pleasant dinner and maybe even a nice cup of tea, and he quickly begins to feel better once he steps inside.

The shrieking sound of his name causes him to wince unexpectedly, bringing his shoulders up to his ears.

“ _Louis!”_

Out comes Mack, emerging from the hallway on her tiny feet as she runs toward Louis with outstretched hands and the happiest smile there is.

As she approaches closer, Louis already beginning to grow delighted due to having someone so excited for him to be home, he notices that her hands are heavily pigmented with pastel colors.

“ _Woah_ —is that paint?” Louis asks, squatting down in front of her and stopping her abruptly before she can tackle him in an energetic hug.  He grabs her hand as she begins to giggle, and even though it _is_ adorable how oblivious she is, he’s not so sure how he feels about _paint,_ on her _hands_ , in his _house_ , while he’s at _work_.

“It’s _dry_ ,” she laughs, shoving them in Louis’ face and confirming her statement with every rub of her hands against his cheeks.

Louis begins to laugh, nodding comfortably before pulling her in for a hug, her small arms reaching behind his neck as she gets up on her toes.

He eventually gets up to his feet, much to her delight as she squeals and allows herself to be lifted and spun around, and whatever torment Louis had been going through prior to going home is already beginning to drift away and vanish into thin air.

Elizabeth emerges from one of the rooms while they’re in the midst of another round of joyful swinging, and he has his hands up under Mackenzie’s armpits as he turns his eyes to look at her.  She’s wearing a lavender sweatsuit with numerous streaks of color smeared upon on it, as well as spread over hands, spotted on her face, and mixed within her messy hair.

“You guys obviously had a festive day,” Louis says, bringing Mack in as he simply holds her, the girl immediately resting against his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him.

Elizabeth rolls her eyes as she leans her elbow against the wall in the hallway, an adulated grin growing upon her lips.  “We didn’t get anything on your walls.”

Louis blinks, pressing his lips together as he moves in order to make his way past Elizabeth, attempting to act like that wasn’t the exact thing that was on his mind.  “That didn’t even cross my mind, but thanks for being thoughtful.”

Elizabeth slaps him on the back of his shoulder as he continues his way through his house, past the den and toward the kitchen in order to quiet his complaining stomach.

“As _if_ you wouldn’t pop a blood vessel if you found out there was even a scratch on your couch,” Elizabeth says.

He gently sets Mack down against the dining table, much to her dismay as she crosses her arms with a frown.

“What?” Louis asks, looking at Elizabeth with just a hint of amusement.  “I treasure this place a lot.”

Elizabeth slides into one of the seats by the dining table, crossing one leg over the other as she reaches for the fruit basket that remains towards the center of it.  “To be honest, I don’t blame you,” she says, rotating an apple in her hand and inspecting it closely.  “This place _wasn’t_ cheap.”

“I _painted_!” Mack exclaims, now back into a refreshingly happy state as she squeals, nearly kicking her mother in the face where she sits upon the dining table.

“Oh yeah?  What did you paint?” Louis asks with interest as he pulls one of his mugs out of the cabinet. 

She then goes on to talk about all the rainbows, and the suns, and even _Louis_ that she painted as a part of their day of art.  What she seems most excited to talk about though, much to Louis’ delight, is her picture of “Mommy and Daddy getting married”.

“You’re gonna show me these masterpieces, right?” Louis asks, his hands pressed against the counter behind him as he leans into it.

She nods eagerly, her hair bouncing along with every head movement.

Louis turns his attention to Elizabeth as he waits for his tea, fixing a grin on her as she rests her head on the table, clearly exhausted from however Mack had run her wild for today.

“How’s the catering search going?” Louis asks, knowing she’d been stressing about that exact thing right before he’d left.

She rubs her hands over her eyes whilst Mack begins to play with her chestnut hair.  “It’s just hard finding luck within the budget that Jordan set up, and it’s even harder because I want places that serve _good_ vegan food—and _then_ I’m trying to avoid anything with refined oils in it—“

“Wait— _why_?” Louis asks, his face shifting with confusion.

She lifts her head, going just a bit more serious as she stares at Louis.  “You haven’t heard?  That stuff’s terrible for you.  It has chemicals, like hexane in it.”

Louis shakes his head, crossing his arms as a laugh pokes at his lips.  “Do you even know what hexane is?” he asks, turning towards the kettle once he begins to hear it whistle.  “You sound like Zayn.”

“Well I love Zayn, so I hope you know I’m taking that as a huge compliment,” she replies, before proceeding to let out a heavy sigh, Louis now pouring steadily into his mug.  “I just need everything to be _perfect_ for the wedding, and right now it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen for me.”

Louis scoffs, finishing his mug off before setting the kettle back upon the stove.  “Don’t say that.  You’ve gotta keep _some_ kind of faith for goodness’ sake.”

“You don’t understand having a vision of your fairytale wedding in your head since you were _twelve_ ,” Elizabeth explains, poking at her own chest.  “And actually having to _live up_ to it.  It’s a lot of work.”

“Well that’s because when you were twelve, you imagined flying acrobats at your wedding,” Louis replies, a smug grin on his face.  “You weren’t exactly a realistic dreamer.”

Elizabeth drops her mouth in offense, before reaching over for the fruit basket again and swiftly grabbing a small plum in order to hurl it at Louis.

“ _Hey_ ,” Louis says after it successfully hits his right bicep, his mouth falling agape as he sets his mug on the counter and Mack begins to giggle.  He ends up throwing a plastic spoon that’s been left in the cabinet at her, which results in her actively chasing him around with an open box of saltine crackers she’d speedily pulled from the pantry, much to Mack’s merriment as she skips around and follows them.

Nights like these where Louis’ allowed to unwind and enjoy the company of both his sister and his niece are really what gets him through each day.  He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing though, considering they’ve only been living with him for about two weeks.  Prior to that, he’d been completely alone in his condo.

Elizabeth is obviously _very_ precise about how she wants everything in her wedding to go down, which is actually the very reason she’s in Louis’ home right now.

She’d visited months ago when she was still only engaged, just stopping by to meet with him and catch up, but as soon as he’d opened his front door, she’d declared that this city was _the_ city, and that if she’s going to get married it’s definitely going to be _here_ , disregarding the fact that she lives a good five hours away.

So she’s been here for some time now, running wild in order to get everything together for the wedding, which has been especially stressful since her husband is currently on a business trip he couldn’t get out of.  Louis figured it would make him heartless not to give them a place to crash, especially since he has extra rooms that can very well be utilized for them to sleep in.  The room they’re currently staying in, Louis had been using as a study, but he guesses he’s not too bummed about having to lose that for the next few weeks.

He definitely doesn’t hate the fact that they’re staying, because he loves his sister, adores the mess out of Mack, and even Jordan isn’t too shabby.  Elizabeth and Jordan _did_ have Mackenzie three years ago, so Louis’ met the man a substantial amount of times by now, and it genuinely seems like Elizabeth has gotten it right.  Louis has high hopes for their marriage.

He spends the remainder of his night pleasing his stomach in the kitchen before finding himself sprawled across the warm rug in the den, Mack sat between the two of them as they talk lazily and aimlessly.

“You know, this place is really nice,” Elizabeth says, sitting with her legs crossed as her narrowed eyes look around.

“You say that a lot, yeah,” Louis replies with a giggle, laid on his back with his hands to his chest, resting his eyes.  The lowlight setting of the den always makes him sleepy.

“Everything here is just _nice_ ,” Elizabeth continues.  “I might think about living here.”

Louis opens his eyes and sits up in the same instant, setting a heavy hand on the rug as he looks at Elizabeth.  “I love you Liz, you know I do,” Louis begins.  “But I don’t think I can handle you, Mack, _and_ Jordan living with me.  It would get too crowded and expensive.”

Elizabeth shakes her head as she laughs, Mackenzie moving toward her in order to settle herself into her mother’s lap.  “I’m talking about this _area_ , you doofus,” she replies.  “And why are you even stressing anyway?  You’re acting as though you don’t make a salary big enough for a small family.”

Faint relief is washed over Louis as he settles his back against the rug once again, a comfortable grin pulling at his lips.

“But I actually really just enjoy the _feel_ of everything around here,” she continues.  “I always got extremely good vibes whenever I visited you.”

Louis’ eyes are now closed again, but he raises an eyebrow with uncertainty, because he’s pretty sure Elizabeth is talking just to talk right now.

“What?  It’s _true_ ,” Elizabeth says, probably watching his changing facial expression.  “This place has completely transformed you.”

Louis shakes his head, opening his eyes as he blinks languidly up at the ceiling.  “I don’t think so.”

“Sure,” Elizabeth replies, Mackenzie almost asleep where her head rests against her thigh. “You’re still working to invite every single person you know, right?” she adds as an afterthought.

Louis nods his head tiredly, since that’s about the fiftieth time she’s asked this question in a week.  “ _Yes._ ”

“ _All_ your friends?” she asks, to which Louis nods.  “ _All_ your old friends?” she asks, Louis nodding again.  “ _Even_ people you’ve only spoken to once?”

Louis laughs lightly as he nods much slower now.  “I guess—why do you even want this many people you don’t know at your wedding?”

“It has to be _huge,_ ” she says, her arms spreading wide as Louis sees her in his peripheral.  “And you _better_ have invited all of your coworkers.”

Louis nods with just a little less enthusiasm than before, which Elizabeth quickly picks up on.

“I know you’re lying, because you hate all of them,” she says bluntly, before swiftly reaching into the box of crackers that’s still left beside her and throwing one at Louis, bringing him to flinch as it hits him right in the head.  “Just _please_?  Do it for me.”

Louis mumbles to himself as he shakes his head.  “I _really_ hope I’m never as over-the-top as you.”

“Pretty sure you _would_ be if your wedding was right around the corner,” she replies, before bringing her head close to Mack and whispering to the girl in secret, even though she’s now fast asleep.  “But first Louis would have to get a _fiancé,_ wouldn’t he?”

Louis narrows his eyes at her, but she seems sufficiently pleased with herself as she grins.

After Mackenzie has been put to bed and Elizabeth calls it a day as well, Louis finds himself in his bedroom, flicking on the light and sighing with the relief of impending relaxation.

He stands in the middle of his room for just a while, calmly staring out of the large windows he’s always admired that span from the top of the wall to the very bottom.  He’s not admiring them right now, however; just looking at them blankly as his mind moves around in ways he doesn’t want it to.

He reaches into his back pocket for his phone, pulling it out and bringing it in front of his face.

He’s got one missed call.

And it’s from Robert.

Louis tosses his phone on top of his bed and _definitely_ doesn’t do it with anger.  There may have been a tiny amount of frustration behind it though.

He works his hands through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling, settling both palms behind his neck and wondering why he even cares.

He should’ve known there was no way in hell he would ever get a call from that man.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

“What, is that your ex or something?” Caleb asks, his eyebrows pulling together in both seriousness and confusion.

They’re sat in his car, remaining in the slowly emptying school parking lot after Caleb had unexpectedly shown up in order to take Harry home. 

Harry had thought he’d forgotten about the _thing_ because it’s been a week, but he randomly brought it back up as soon as they’d slipped into the car, leaving Harry with nothing to do but simply tell him, as well as play him the voicemail. 

He definitely hasn’t told him about the part where he plays it pretty much every night before he goes to sleep, however.

In response to his question, Harry shakes his head with an airy laugh, as though even the idea of it is absurd.  “ _No_ —not at all.  He, uh…” Harry begins, scratching his chin for a moment as he thinks about it, Caleb’s eyes securely trained on him.  “He’s just a friend.  Actually, a _distant_ friend, really…”

Caleb continues to watch him carefully, although Harry’s not looking back as he thoroughly analyzes his own words.

“Actually, we’re not friends,” Harry settles on, shrugging his shoulders as he finally turns to look at Caleb.  “We used to be, and now we’re not, which is why I was so confused when he sent me that.”

There’s a pause, both of them proceeding to remain quiet in his car as Harry bites the inside of his cheek and hopes that’s all there is to be discussed about the topic.  His hands are also toying with each other just a little, because he’s not sure how Caleb is taking it as he sits there, his eyes narrowing slightly in concentration.  He could be angry, not even believing Harry’s words, which is only mildly bothersome as Harry waits in the tense silence.

“I say we should go,” he suddenly says, before pursing his lips and nodding his head the more he thinks about it, despite Harry’s growing eyes as he stares at him with faint disbelief.  “Yep, we’re going.”

“I…I’m not even,” he begins, stammering as he looks down at his knees.  “Well you haven’t even asked _me_ —“

“Harry, you’re a horrible decision maker,” Caleb interrupts with a sad shake of his head before he moves in order to start the car.  “Plus, I haven’t done a wedding in a while.  It could be nice, you know?  We could get all cute and whatnot.”

Harry rests his head against his fist as he leans toward the window, wanting to be verbally opposed to this but knowing that will only make Caleb think there’s something _more_ behind the voice message, and he _really_ doesn’t want to deal with that.

Harry’s lips slowly curve up on one side as he looks at Caleb, a cheeky expression growing on his face.  “It _is_ always satisfying to see you in a suit.”

Caleb reaches out a finger to poke Harry in his side as he drives, bringing Harry to quickly sit up and shove him away with hearty giggles.  “You aren’t too bad yourself,” he replies nicely.

He’s made more comfortable as Caleb continues to drive and they discuss what days they need to take off and how exciting it’s going to be, and Harry tries his best to sound enthusiastic for the sole purpose of not creating any suspicion, even though his stomach is churning with overwhelming dread.

The most prominent dread he feels is the fact that he’s going to have to eventually tell Niall, and the man has been pestering him about it once a day since the first time they’d talked about it. 

He puts off telling the boy for as long as he can, and he’s not even sure why.

That only lasts for a few days, and Harry finds a bit of peace within those few days as he pretends that the wedding doesn’t even exist, that he was never invited, and that he’s not even going, even though he is.  For those few days though, Harry just _pretends_ none of that is happening.  It’s sort of like a coping mechanism.

It only lasts for so long before he’s in class, literally right in the middle of scribbling on the board as he teaches about sentence gerunds.  The man pretty much barges in and disrupts everything.

“So are we doing the wedding or _not_?” he asks tiredly, hands pressed against either side of the doorframe as all of the students’ heads turn towards him.

Harry looks at him incredulously, his lips parted as he’s right in the midst of writing down a sample sentence on the board.

The word “wedding” begins to float through the air with question as many of them start to grow interested in whatever is being talked about, one of them even going as far as to ask if Harry and Niall are getting married.

“ _Niall_ …” Harry begins, now fully facing the boy and coming over to speak to him within close range.  “I’m definitely not talking about this right now—“

“Why don’t you like weddings?” Harry hears Irene ask from behind him, and he turns around and looks over his shoulder with furrowed eyebrows, slight offense written on his face.  “I _do_ like weddings—“

“Mr. Harry here doesn’t like _love_ ,” Niall says, bracing a hand on the man’s shoulder and succeeding in getting the students to protest in an uproar, vehemently questioning what he has against romance and holy matrimony.

“Wait, but doesn’t he have a boyfriend?” one of the students named Michael asks, turning to other kids _around_ him and not even speaking to Harry.  They seem to casually nod their heads, Harry growing red-cheeked as he hears one of them say “I saw them being mushy after school one day when his boyfriend brought him flowers—“

“Okay, we are _not_ talking about this,” Harry cuts in, raising a stern finger in the air and pointing at the group of particularly nosy students.  “This conversation should end as soon as I take Mr. Horan outside.”

Without another word, he pushes the blond man out of his classroom and into the hallway by both of his shoulders, gently closing the door behind himself before crossing his arms and setting a hard look upon him.

“I _am_ going,” he says quietly, although he doesn’t know why.  “Now why do you need to know so urgently?”

“Because I’m trying to get things organized with Liam and Zayn, and we’re running out of time,” Niall says, slapping Harry on the arm impatiently.  “It takes a lot of planning and coordination to get this trip together and _then_  schedule everything out perfectly so we can be there on Monday.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, growing puzzled as he takes a step closer to Niall.  “Wait—why are we arriving there five days before the wedding?”

Niall blinks repeatedly at Harry, as though the answer should be exceedingly obvious.  “Because it’s _Louis._   And we wanna, you know, hang _out_?” he says.  “Jesus, we haven’t had a reunion like this in _ages_!”

Harry stares at the man for a moment, genuinely beginning to wonder what exactly is wrong with him, and why he even admires him so much as a friend.  Niall is seriously just going to ignore the _gigantic_ elephant relating to how he and Louis aren’t as close with each other as everyone else has grown in the last five years. 

Hopefully, when they get to Zayn and Liam’s, the two of _them_ won’t be as insensitive and oblivious as Niall’s being right now.

He takes a few steps backward, preparing to re-enter his classroom as he shakes his head at Niall.  “You’re a maniac, do you know that?”

“Love you too,” Niall replies with a sweet grin, right before Harry opens his door and prepares himself to scold his students for continuing to talk about his love life.

 

~*~

 

Harry has absolutely no idea how or when this happened.

Niall’s in the front seat, responsibly assuming the position of driver for the next two hours, Caleb is in the passenger seat, loudly and quite animatedly discussing stats for athletes or something, and Harry’s reclined in the backseat, his legs stretched out across the cushion as he lays his head comfortably, and he doesn’t know _why_ he’s doing this.  He doesn’t even remember _agreeing_ to this.

They’re in Niall’s van, which is why there’s space for all of them to be comfortable, because heaps of their packed belongings are flooding the floor as well as the trunk and—

Why the _fuck_ is Harry doing this?

With every passing mile, Harry regrets so many of his life decisions more and more.  He regrets ever even checking his voicemail, because voice messages are stupid anyway, and he should’ve stuck to his distaste for listening to them.

His head is growing increasingly tense as they continue to drive, and he’s pretty sure Niall and Caleb yelling back and forth and shoving each other in ways that are playful, yet still quite dangerous as Niall drives, is contributing to it.  They’ve always gotten on so well, which Harry’d liked for the most part.  At first.

Now, as he strokes his temples with his fingers and closes his eyes, their closeness is growing exponentially annoying, because all it does is show how they’re both clearly enjoying themselves while Harry is sat here crumbling to millions of withered pieces.

“Did we even RSVP?” Harry blurts at some point, drawing his eyebrows together as he thinks about it deeply.

Because that’s what adults do, right?  They RSVP, which is something he remembers has to do with invitations, and stuff.  They definitely haven’t done that yet, and it’s probably too _late_ to do it now, so they can’t even go to the wedding if that’s the case.

“I’m sure it doesn’t matter,” Niall replies with a shrug as he speeds down the highway.  “I know Louis doesn’t care about that shit.”

“Yeah, don’t ask stupid questions babe,” Caleb adds, turning around in his seat in order to reach over and tousle Harry’s hair.

“Now _Elizabeth_ , I’m not sure about,” Niall continues, clearly falling into deep thought about it as well.  “She’s usually chill and laidback, but she’s gone absolutely mad since the wedding stuff’s started.  She’s stressing every time I call her.”

Harry wishes he could nod his head in agreement, but he can’t.  He wasn’t there with the rest of them in the handful of times they went to visit Louis.  He hasn’t gotten to know Elizabeth, growing close to her and feeling as though she’s a sister as the rest of them have.  He literally knows that the _only_ reason he’s even invited to this wedding is because Louis didn’t want to blatantly leave him out, and that’s why Harry hasn’t called him back as the voicemail had politely requested of him.  He knows Louis doesn’t care; he was just going through the motions, leaving the cordial message and moving onto the next one. 

Harry turns over on his side, burying his face against the cushion of the seat and deciding that maybe he _shouldn’t_ open his mouth to ask stupid questions.  He’ll just keep his stupid mouth shut for the rest of the ride.

He does, but it doesn’t seem like either of the men notice or care.

He just wants to see Zayn and Liam.  Even he and _Liam_ have grown exceptionally closer in the last few years, and Harry definitely regards the man as more of a friend to him than Louis is.  The man has this weird, quiet nature about him, but he cares (although he has a hidden way of showing it), and he makes Harry’s best friend so happy, which is always a beautiful thing.

He wants to see Zayn so badly though, because he knows the man won’t be rejoicing in this “reunion” as freely and carelessly as the rest of them will be, due to him actually having this thing calling _sympathy._ Zayn will know with one look into Harry’s eyes that he doesn’t want this.  That he’s nervous, that he’s skeptical, that he’s fucking _torn_ , and that he just needs someone to dump it all onto.  He needs his best friend.

As Niall had already painfully informed Harry, they’re going to be in Louis’ city on Monday, so right now, as they drive on a Saturday morning, Harry is beyond grateful of the fact that he’s going to get at _least_ two days of emotional refuge in Zayn and Liam’s snug flat.

Harry doesn’t even know why Niall’s acting as though it’s going to be the best reunion of all time, because they meet up with Zayn and Liam often.  It’s not even like they’re in a whole different country—it’s literally just a three hour drive.  He guesses the man is mostly attributing the significance of the event to having Louis added, who of which is significantly farther away and harder to casually visit.  The rest of them still talk regularly to Louis anyway, which is clear from how knowledgeable they always are about what’s going on in his life (“Louis just sent me pictures of his new condo”, “What should I get for Elizabeth’s baby shower?”, and Niall randomly erupting in laughter as he stares at his phone, Harry not even having to ask to know it’s because he’d gotten a text from Louis).

Once they finally reach Zayn and Liam’s place after Caleb and Niall have switched spots as driver and Harry has been asleep for a good portion of the ride, he feels just a bit more at ease.

The greetings begin before they even reach their front door, because Zayn is already running out of his flat with his arms outstretched, providing Niall with a perfect opportunity to jump right into his arms, the man wrapping his legs around Zayn as they both smile endlessly.

The reunion ensues, Harry waiting patiently for his hug with Zayn, which is just as enthusiastic as his and Niall’s (although he doesn’t jump on top of him), and he offers one of his tight embraces to Liam, who comes out long after Zayn in a way less jumpy fashion, which only makes Harry smile as he admires how refreshingly different they are.

Everyone just hugs and hugs (Liam only giving Caleb a handshake, however, because for some reason he’s always claimed to have had a _thing_ against him) and everything is so fluffy and light as they make their way inside.  Harry quickly takes notice of the few new renovations they’ve made to their apartment.  He’s always been jealous of how big it is, and he definitely wouldn’t mind having one like this for himself, but he’s not sure that’s necessary for a person who lives alone.

Liam is currently a longtime freelance journalist, and Zayn is basically…employed by himself and his desire to explore the world without being tied down to lifelong careers, and both of them always seem to be living their best lives.  It shows on their faces whenever Harry sees them; it’s as though they’re younger with every passing year, their skin glowing and their relationship remaining solid.  They’re traveling often, but when they’re not doing that, they obviously spend a lot of time making their flat as comfortable as possible, which is clear whenever he enters it.

It’s always an experience, stepping into their apartment, taking in the several serene LED lights that are hung up high, outlining every room, the lack of actual _chairs_ , all of them instead replaced with a few low floor cushions and various plump pillows, a myriad of exotic looking plants in different areas of their house (many of them smelling of mint), and he always feels overall calmer when he’s here.

Within only a few minutes of all of them entering, not even having gotten their _bags_ out of the van yet, Niall is scavenging their kitchen in order to look for where the drinks are stored.

“Top left cabinet,” Zayn tells him, all of them now gathered around the kitchen and clearly in the mood to have a good time.

There’s already a corkscrew being gotten out, fingers actively working to pop open a huge Beringer wine bottle, and the drink is fizzing beautifully before Harry can even blink, Caleb digging his hands into Harry’s shoulders as he yells at Niall for taking too long of a sip.

“Oh, I don’t want any,” Harry brings himself to say after they’ve all taken thorough gulps out of the bottle and Liam is now passing it to Harry.

Liam nudges it at him with his eyebrows knit together, seeming just a tad disappointed.  “Why?”

“You know I don’t drink.”

“God, stop being _boring_ ,” Niall groans, coming over and snatching the bottle out of Liam’s grip before bringing it to his own mouth and taking a healthy gulp out of it once again.  “Are you gonna be _this_ boring at the reception too?” he asks, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Harry parts his lips slightly in order to say something, but many of them are already chuckling, so he brings his hands to simply fiddle with the hem of his shirt, feeling thoroughly attacked.

“I don’t have to drink to have fun, okay?” Harry says, but it only fuels the laughter, Caleb taking the bottle from Zayn as they begin to gradually shift to other amusing topics.

A lot of time is spent in the kitchen, Harry slowly transitioning back into his prior self-conscious self, Zayn and Liam eventually conversing with Caleb as he attempts to catch up with them,  Niall sufficiently tipsy as he chimes in where he doesn’t need to and laughs a little too hard for his own good.

Harry doesn’t even realize that he’s partially isolated from everyone as he leans against the kitchen counter and simply taps his fingers against the surface.

This is the way it is for quite a while, the sounds of the rest of them talking beginning to sound foggy in his ears as his mind rolls away.

Out of nowhere, Niall seems to just _appear_ , wrapping a heavy arm around Harry as he speaks lowly into his ear.

“God, I can’t _wait_ ,” Niall says, the alcohol on his breath instantly smelled by Harry.  “And _Louis_ ,” he continues, adding a low purr to his voice as he comes in just a bit closer.  “He’s gonna see your new boyfriend, and he’s gonna get so _jealous_ —“

Harry shakes his shoulders in order to get the man off of him, and it works for half a second before Niall comes right back in, setting both hands on Harry’s right arm as he giggles.

“He’s gonna be _jealous_ when he sees your new man,” he continues, before the smile is wiped off of his face as he seems to go serious, putting both hands in the air.  “ _Not_ that I’m on any sides though.  I love Louis.  I love the both of you,” he clarifies.

“Thanks,” Harry says boredly.

That seems to be enough interaction for Niall as he waltzes away, sliding himself back into the conversation the rest of them are having as Harry moves his arms in order to set his head down against them.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide the fact that he doesn’t like where things are headed.

Of _course_ he’s happy about visiting his friends right now, but being here only reminds him of where he’s ultimately going to end up.  He’s going to fucking _see_ Louis, and he’s not ready for that.  He doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ be ready for that, and it’s going to be absolutely impossible to avoid it, considering how intertwined their friends are.

His head has been buried in his arms and his eyes have seen nothing but darkness for five minutes before he feels a gentle hand tap at his shoulder.

He lifts his head slowly, his eyes taking a moment to adjust as he looks up at Zayn.

The man’s hand moves in order to lovingly rub at his back, his lips mouthing the word “come” before he simply walks in the direction of the hallway.

Harry pushes himself away from the counter, biting down on his bottom lip as he follows behind the man, ignoring the joyous laughs the rest of them are still having in the kitchen.

He gets led into what is his and Liam’s bedroom, which is this giant room at the end of the hall with a king sized bed, some _more_ hanging lights, a cinnamon candle that is constantly lit, and what he knows is Zayn’s _favorite_ part of it—the woven hanging chair that sways in the corner of the room, which he quickly settles himself into, bringing his legs to cross underneath him as he gestures at Harry to sit upon one of the plump pillows set in front of the bed.

Harry does so, taking notice of how Canopy’s terrarium seems to have been upgraded, the sticks, leaves, and general natural area he gets to roam around in quite spacious as it remains set on the ground by Zayn’s hanging chair.

“So how are you feeling?” Zayn asks quietly.

Harry scratches at his ankle as he opens his mouth, knowing the exact answer to the question but not being so sure about how vulnerable he wants to be right now.

“Okay, I guess,” Harry replies in a sort of whisper.

Zayn shakes his head as he sets serious eyes on Harry.  “Come on.  I could feel how off your energy was as soon as you stepped out of the car,” he says.

Harry forces a grin onto his lips as one of Caleb’s thunderous laughs is heard all the way from the room they’re in.  “I mean, it doesn’t really matter how I’m feeling, does it?” he asks, lifting a useless hand in the air as he motions toward the noise.

Zayn sighs sadly, joining his hands together as he closely studies Harry with his soothing gaze.

Harry still doesn’t know if he wants to talk, but he’s glad he’s getting a moment away from everything and being allowed to show just how displeased he is.

Suddenly Zayn shifts just a bit, scooting to the side of his chair and patting at the empty space next to him.  “C’mon.”

Harry pushes himself up off of the ground with a huff, dusting his hands off on his pants as he walks over in order to settle himself into the cozy space next to Zayn.

Once he gets settled, Zayn reaches out and takes both of Harry’s hands in his, his thumbs brushing against his palms with a tender gentleness.

“You know you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I mean, I _wanna_ go,” Harry lies, eyes focused on Zayn’s hands.  “It’s just—I miss my classroom, and stuff.  I don’t like taking long breaks from teaching.  It throws the students off.”

Zayn continues to simply look at him, not a sprinkle of judgment in his features.

“Always slows things down, getting a substitute and all,” Harry continues, now starting to ramble.  “They’re gonna be so behind.  _That’s_ what’s bothering me.”

Zayn nods with understanding, letting go of one of Harry’s hands in order to cup the back of his neck.  “It’s fine if you’re not…you know… _ready_ for this.”

Harry forces out a chuckle as he shakes his head.  “No, I’m—I’m over that,” he says with laughter.  “That’s not what this is about.”

“Okay,” Zayn says after a beat of silence.  “Because I’m sure Louis isn’t hung up on that either.  I mean, whatever it _is_ that happened between you guys so long ago.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, instead continuing to chew on his bottom lip and not reveal the truth of what he’s feeling.

“Since you _still_ refuse to tell me what happened,” Zayn adds, just a bit impatiently.

“That’s because nothing happened,” Harry replies, gently patting Zayn’s hand before preparing to exit the hanging chair.

“I mean, _something_ obviously happened that both you and Louis refuse to talk about,” Zayn says as Harry makes his way back across the room, intent to join the rest of them back in the kitchen.  “Louis never even mentions it in our weekly phone conversations.”

“Thanks for reminding me of those,” Harry replies, right before he leaves out of the room, waving two fingers of peace over his shoulder.

Harry attempts to put a happy mask on his face as the evening ages on, and after a few more hours of catching up and gathering in the living room in order to talk endlessly about whatever comes to their delirious, dizzy minds, it becomes easier to pretend.

That is, until Niall abruptly gets up from one of the pillows, stretching his arms out as he makes a chilling announcement.  “Well, we should get going, shouldn’t we?”

Harry sits up from where he’d had his head rested on Caleb’s shoulder, his eyebrows raising as he watches all the rest of them nod their heads to agree.

“Wait—we’re leaving _now_?” Harry asks.

“Yeah.  They’re having a wine tasting party tonight for anyone who wants to come,” Liam says.  “You didn’t know that?”

“We were talking about it in the car,” Niall says, looking down at him confusedly.

“I was _sleeping_ ,” Harry replies.

“Well,” Niall says.  “They’re having a wine tasting party in uh…” he looks down at his watch, squinting his eyes just a hint.  “Nine hours, which means we should get there just in time.”

“Yeah, we’re already packed,” Zayn says, seeming just a little sorry as he tilts his head at Harry.

“Is this not too much for you guys?” Harry asks exhaustedly.  “I mean, we haven’t even gotten _settled_ —“

“Jesus, this one,” Caleb cuts in, bringing his hands up to caress Harry’s cheeks and profusely squish them, moving his face around and turning his words to mush.  “Gotta put a muzzle on him.”

“You know, maybe he’s right,” Zayn says, even though it doesn’t sound as though he actually means the words as he utters them noncommittally.  “Maybe it’s too much, driving for ten hours and then going straight to a wine tasting party.”

“We can sleep in the car,” Niall mutters, already faraway and grabbing his car keys from the kitchen table.  “We already got a hotel booked and _everything_.  Keep up, dude.”

“And _I_ have to be the one driving,” Harry says, the side of his head now being caressed as Caleb has him held against his shoulder.  “Because all of you guys drank.”

The preparation to leave the flat continues, however, despite Harry not holding back in voicing his different complaints about how they shouldn’t go so soon.

He’s way past the point of pretending not to be against this, because as everyone’s getting to their feet, helping Zayn and Liam with their many bags and suitcases as they drag them out to the car, Harry’s mind keeps going _I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready_ but everyone is still fucking _moving_.

They attempt to make him feel better by claiming he doesn’t have to drive the _whole_ way once they sober up a bit, but that’s not even Harry’s main concern.  He’s going to be in the same vicinity as Louis _tonight_ and his heart isn’t prepared for such a horrifying event.  What is he going to say?  Hi?  I haven’t spoken to you in five years but what’s up? 

The entire ride there, Harry doesn’t settle down even a little bit.  The carefree, effortlessly fun environment of the car as he drives continues to mock him, and he seriously can’t remember the last time he wasn’t tense.

The last time he’d literally _looked_ at Louis was after he’d kissed him all those years ago.  The image of his shocked, borderline _scared_ eyes has been beating at Harry’s brain ever since, and he just doesn’t know how to _handle_ looking into them again.  All it will do is remind him of making the dumbest decision of his life and that the distance is all his fault.

Four hours of driving mostly in one straight direction doesn’t calm him at all.  When it eventually switches over to Zayn driving instead of him, he doesn’t manage to get any sleep either, despite how much he curls up into Caleb’s side and tries.

He feels both hollow and painfully overflowed as the miles go on, and he's almost certain he resembles a zombie as the rest of them drift in and out of sleep, point out the window at cool attractions—he doesn’t even utter a word when they stop at a sit-down eatery along the way, the rest of them joking and lively.

The hours that pass as they grow nearer to their destination are both excruciatingly long and unbearably fast, because Harry’s heart is thumping wildly when they finally reach an exit.  His mind is already beginning to explore areas he doesn’t want it to.

He even lifts his head to look out the window, the night very much upon them as his eyes study the lit cities outside of it, and all he can think about is how Louis lives here.  How he’d _moved_ in order to live here.  How he didn’t stay in that same apartment on Park Avenue.  How he didn’t wait.

As they near the outside area where it seems the event is taking place, oddly enough, the sight of it is what causes Harry’s heart to settle because.  There are a _lot_ of people.

It seems to be quite a fancy event, precisely to the point where Harry _knows_ he’s underdressed in his knee-ripped jeans and oversized black cardigan.  He’s pretty sure the rest of them don’t care about such a thing as they begin to shake with excitement while Zayn finds parking in the area.

There are so many guests spread over the outside area of grass, and it appears they’ve arrived late, because it doesn’t seem like there’s much organized wine tasting going on—it simply looks like wine _drinking_ as everyone holds glasses with various beverages in them, dressed in clean dark dresses and suits as they seem to mingle.  Although Harry feels _so_ out of place before he even steps out of the car, he’s relieved, because he figures he probably won’t even run into Louis.  He doesn’t think Caleb cares about meeting Louis, so all he has to do is subtly steer his boyfriend away from the rest of them, and they can have their own little night with each other.  It should be easy.

Zayn gives him a pat on the shoulder once they’re out of the car, and it soothes Harry that much more, and he decides he can do this.  He can…he can do this.

He links his arm around Caleb’s as they near the area, and the man seems pleasantly surprised as he grins down at Harry (and definitely doesn’t notice how Harry is subtly leading them in a different direction from the other men).

“I’ve always wanted to try Pinot Noir.  I wonder if they have that here,” Caleb says.

“They probably do,” Harry agrees, nuzzling his head against Caleb’s shoulder briefly as they walk.  “Heard the raspberry is good.”

“Really?” Caleb answers, and they fall into a healthy tossing of back and forth commentary as they finally mix themselves within the general venue of people, Harry succeeding in not even knowing where the rest of them are anymore.

There’s an area on the periphery of the grass where samples of various drinks are being given out, and Harry even helps himself to a sip of one, just to please Caleb and not give him anything else to think about.

The sound of Niall hollering loudly in excitement from somewhere faraway causes Harry to still all of his movements for just a second, because he knows with no doubt in his mind what has just happened.  He turns his eye to Caleb, and the man is simply concentrated on eating square cheese off of a stick, clearly not paying as much attention as Harry is to every single noise.

So Harry figures that’s that.  It’s confirmed; Louis is _here_ and the other men have _found_ him.  All he has to do is stay on this side of things, and soon enough, they’ll be leaving.  It seems like the whole thing isn’t too far from winding down anyway.

They somehow end up mingling themselves with the other guests that have attended, who _also_ don’t know too many people (which only strengthens Harry’s belief that literally every person under the sun was invited), and they’re making small talk about where they come from, their jobs, and how they know either the bride or the groom, and whatnot.

Caleb keeps a warm hand around his waist as they spend quite a while doing this, and Harry feels wonderfully comfortable about how everything is turning out.

“So, being a teacher…” the young lady in front of him asks, who Harry’s learned is a dentist that’s friends with Elizabeth.  “You enjoy that?  Like… _really_?”

Her husband nods along as he stands next to her, and he appears to be a man that looks like he’s much older than her, which has already been making things a tad bit unsettling.  It’s also not hard to miss how obviously pristine and exquisite they are, because the only thing shinier than the diamonds on her husband’s watch are the real pearls on her neck.

Harry nods meaningfully as he feels Caleb’s fingers grip onto his waist just a hint.  “Yeah, I love it,” Harry replies.

“What about the salary though?” the husband asks.  “Is that not a struggle for you?”

“Well, luckily I’m not worried about that,” Harry replies, trying his best to keep all traces of snippiness out of his tone.  “I just want to do what makes me happy.”

He has to stand there through many other infuriating questions, as though he hadn’t already endured this type of interrogation from his mother years ago.  By the time the topic has shifted onto Caleb’s profession as a nurse (“Surely you’re working your way up, right?”), Harry’s sufficiently frustrated, now wanting to just leave and check into their hotel room even sooner.

Harry decides to take a break from it for just a moment, politely excusing himself before going over to where the drinks are being given out and requesting something non-alcoholic.  He’s beyond grateful when he’s given a simple glass of white grape sparkling cider, but it doesn’t stop him from subconsciously gripping tightly onto the cup as he sips from it.

He’s leaned against the tiny bar that’s set up, simply staying away from things and enjoying his own company when he hears the man’s name.

It’s just someone walking—a complete stranger that walks into the general crowd of people as though she’s looking for somebody, which makes sense, because the word “ _Louis_ ” sprouts from her lips in the process of doing it.

She disappears the further away she grows, but it does nothing to help the panic that has already materialized within Harry. 

He’s _near_.

Harry can’t see him, but obviously he’s close by, so his mind is right back to turning into a never-ending repeat of _I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready, I’m not—_

He feels a weak tug at the material of his jeans down below him, which is weird enough to completely quiet his mind as he looks down with furrowed eyebrows.

He finds a little girl, dressed in a flowery pink and red dress, smiling brightly as she points at him.  “You’re _spilling_ ,” she giggles, her shoulders shaking and her curly hair animated.

This brings Harry to shoot his attention towards his glass—which he hadn’t even realized he’d just been holding completely sideways, and yeah, his drink is spilling.  In fact, it’s now ninety percent emptier than it’d originally been.

“Jeez,” Harry huffs, setting the drink on the bar behind him as the little girl continues to enjoy this with every carefree titter that escapes her lips.

“You don’t know how to hold a cup?” she asks, her eyes twinkling as she looks up at him.

Harry bites back a grin as he crouches down to her level, both overjoyed by her innocence and curious as to why she’s just roaming about unattended.  She’s fairly young—obviously either three or four at _most_.

“Eh, sometimes I forget,” Harry says comically, bringing her to erupt into more laughter.  “Now what’s your name?”

“Mack,” she replies proudly, reaching out to mess with a loose thread on Harry’s sweater.

“Do you know where your parents are?” Harry asks.  “I’m sure they’re worried about how you’ve just walked off.”

“Yeah, but mommy’s being bossy,” she replies, shaking her head.

Harry rests his chin on his hand tiredly as he nods his head with absolute agreement.  “I totally understand you, kid,” he replies.  “We all wish it were easy to just walk away, don’t we?”

Mack just laughs some more, seeming as though she doesn’t quite get what he’s saying as Harry grins delightedly.

“ _Dimples_ ,” she laughs, poking at one of them.  She’s half a second away from lifting the other hand so she can poke at the second one, before it seems someone comes for her, her name being called repeatedly.

Harry’s head immediately snaps up at the sound, which is definitely a reaction he wouldn’t have had if it was simply the girl’s mother coming to get her.  Or if the voice was _female_.

What causes Harry’s sharp reaction is the fact that he knows the voice.

Which makes sense when his eyes fall upon Louis, working his way through the crowd in order to get to Mack.

“Mack, you can’t just _run off_ —“

His sentence comes to a sudden end once he’s crouched down as well, his hands frozen where they’re now braced up under Mack’s arms, preparing to lift her away.

They’re _looking_ at each other.  Louis’ seeing Harry, and Harry’s seeing him.

Harry’s heart stops completely—he knows it does, because there’s no way there’s still oxygen circulating his body as he just gazes at the man who he’s had so many sleepless nights over.  Nothing is said for only about two seconds, but the moment seems so much _longer_ than that as Harry does his best to remember the specifics of the boy’s blue eyes, even though he can’t see them in the dim lighting.

“Hey,” Harry says, figuring he’s going to have to be the first person to say something.

Louis finally scoops Mack up as he prepares to stand, his eyes bearing huge amounts of quandary as Harry stands along with him.  “Hi,” he says back.  “How…how are you?”

Harry purses his lips as he begins to feel his chest tighten at the sight of Mack, now securely wrapped around him as she rests her head peacefully on his shoulder.

“I’m fine. I…,” Harry begins, his breath escaping him as it seems his words do the same.  It’s just…the sight of Louis, and—he can’t focus on how different, and sharp, and _good_ he looks, because then his gaze just drifts to the little girl in his _arms_ and— _fuck_ , he feels sick.

“I’m great.  Haven’t seen you in so long,” Harry forces out, his lips quivering just a little as he awkwardly extends out a hand.  “What’s up?”

Louis looks down at his hand for a moment, Harry’s stomach continuing to do back handsprings and somersaults. 

He eventually reaches out to shake it, a microscopic grin spreading across his lips that jabs at Harry’s heart.  “I’m good,” he replies, providing Harry with a small glimpse of the smile he used to literally swoon over.  He lets go of Harry’s hand, patting at Mack’s back as he appears to be preparing to retreat.  “Nice seeing you.”

That seems to be the end of it as he walks away, Harry not saying a single word as his eyes begin to go unfocused.

“Do I have to go back to mommy?” Mack abruptly whines as they begin to weave themselves into the crowd, pulling her head back to look at Louis.

 _Mommy._ Right.

Yeah.  Harry’s definitely sick.

And it’s not even in the hyperbolic sense, because he actually finds himself rushing off of the venue of the event, desperate for a spot to be away from everything as he begins to feel his insides violently _kick_ at each other.

He finds himself back in the parking lot where he’s a substantially far distance away from everyone else, and he presses his hand against the nearest car, leaning his weight onto it as he begins to feel increasingly lightheaded.

He sets one hand on his knee as he hunches over, seriously feeling as though he’s going to hurl something up.

“Mommy,” he breathes, blinking down at the concrete below and watching a single tear drop fall from his eye.

It seems that all his stomach wants to do is torture him, because he’s _not_ throwing anything up—he’s simply continuing to stand there, breathing heavily and feeling as though the world is ending around him.

He breathes the word again as he rubs at his eyes, his fingers getting a feel of just how wet they are.  “Mommy.”

He feels a hand upon his shoulder, rubbing at him as he continues to wipe his eyes.

“I was looking all around for you,” he hears Caleb say, and Harry turns toward him, burying his face in the man’s chest.  “Babe, are you okay?”

Harry pulls his face back, knowing he has noticeably redder eyes than before as he looks at his boyfriend and grasps the cotton of his sleeve.  “No.  I don’t feel good,” he replies, rubbing at his nose.  “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Caleb replies with concern, already backing away hurriedly.  “I’ll go get the keys from Niall, alright?  We’ll go to the hotel and you can rest.”

Harry nods with understanding, pressing his palm against his mouth as he leans against the car once again, simply waiting for Caleb to come back so they can leave.  It quickly becomes harder to wait, because all the free time does is allow his mind to drift back to _Mommy._

Eventually, Caleb _does_ come back with the car key, and Harry finds himself reclined in the passenger seat with his head against the armrest, his boyfriend stroking at his hair on the entire drive to the hotel.  Harry makes an effort to stop the welling of his eyes as he sits there, and for the most part, he succeeds in doing so.

They don’t even waste time carrying all of their stuff out of the car once they reach the hotel inn, instead just checking in, entering their room (they have a separate one from the rest of them), Harry sliding into the bed as Caleb caters to him with water, aspirin, and forehead kisses.

Harry definitely doesn’t mention that his “stomach ache” had ended a while ago, and instead enjoys the fact that he’d succeeded in getting out of that place without even lifting a finger.  It starts to become just a bit bothersome, however, the fact that Caleb keeps shoving bottled water in his face in order to soothe him.

“I think I’ve had enough,” Harry says, pushing away the bottle Caleb has held out toward him.

“I just want you to feel better,” Caleb replies from where he’s laid on the bed next to Harry, tangled above the thick white sheets as Harry lays partially buried underneath them.

Harry remains with the side of his head rested against the pillow as he stares at the man, his voice still soft and weak.  “I’m starting to feel better.”

“Alright,” Caleb says with a shrug, setting the bottle on the nightstand behind him before pulling the lamp cord in order to turn off the light, leaving the room silent and darkened.  “I still don’t understand what happened though.  You looked fine right before we left.”

“I’m really good at faking,” Harry replies, curving his lips upward just a hint as Caleb gets himself settled underneath the blankets.

“Was it something you ate?” Caleb asks, about a foot between their faces as he gets cozy in the queen sized bed.  “I mean, we _did_ stop for burgers at that sketchy fast food place off the highway.”

Harry laughs with a little effort, shaking his head.  “I don’t think so.  It was probably all the driving, you know?” he replies.  “Thirteen hours in one day is a lot.”

Caleb lifts a hand, setting it tenderly upon Harry’s cheek as his face somehow grows even more apologetic.  “Damn, you’re probably car sick,” he says quietly.  “I should’ve listened to you.”

Harry brings his hand up to place it over Caleb’s that’s still on his cheek.  “It doesn’t matter though,” he says through whispers.  “I’m fine now.”

“You sure?” Caleb asks, his eyes sincere as they hold each other’s gazes.

Harry nods, mouthing the word “yeah”.

He turns over in order to allow Caleb to take his usual position behind him, knowing his body is ready for sleep, but also knowing his racing mind probably won’t allow that to happen.  He’s still going to try anyway.

Once Caleb gets up close to him, his arms wrapping around Harry’s torso, enveloping him and bringing their bodies comfortably against each other, Harry shuts his eyes mechanically.

He does his best to convince himself that he _is_ fine.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

“Now _this_ one is always a favorite,” the soft-spoken lady in front of them says, her hands reaching out in order to motion at what looks like yet _another_ set of flowers that are only slightly different from the last ones she’d shown them.  Nevertheless, Elizabeth’s eyes begin to gleam with wonderment as she looks at them, stroking the lavender-colored petals with one hand and holding Mack’s hand with the other as the little girl stands next to her.

“They’re hydrangeas, and they’re very popular among young couples,” she continues, Louis cupping his hand against his chin and trying to figure out how to appear interested.  She goes into a long period of talking about the specifics of it, what occasions they’re used for, going into detail about how bushy they are and how they’re symbolic of “vanity”.

And Louis is intensely bored.

They’ve been sauntering through this flower garden, or flower boutique, or _whatever_ this place is for almost three hours now, looking at hundreds of different flower types that all seem to blend together in his mind.

After the kind lady is done with her lengthy explanation of how the colors range from blue to purple to the most “sophisticated shade of fuchsia”, Elizabeth is positively beaming, and she turns to look at Louis as Mack yells something about bumblebees.

“What do you think?” she asks eagerly.

Louis strokes his chin for a moment, before lifting a useless hand in the air with confusion.  “So what’s really the difference between this one and the other one you showed us a few minutes ago—you know, the purple-blue-ish one?”

“Oh,” the lady laughs, bringing Elizabeth to giggle as well while she rubs at Louis’ shoulder patronizingly.  “Those were sweet peas.  They mostly span the same colors as hydrangeas, except the ones we have actually come in white.  Two completely different things.”

Louis purses his lips for a moment, not quite knowing why he’s even given the opportunity to have an opinion on this.  “Ah.”

Elizabeth seems as though she’s on the brink of saying something smug before she becomes aware of the fact that she isn’t holding Mack’s hand anymore as she turns around.

The girl is halfway across the garden, and from the distance Louis is in, it looks like she’s chasing around something invisible as she claps at the air and giggles excitedly.

“ _Mackenzie_ ,” her mother says, already making her way over the grass in order to get to the girl.

She’s been quite restless all morning if Louis’ being honest, but what are they supposed to _expect_ when they take a three year old into a garden of exotic flowers?

The flower lady seems mildly vexed as she brushes her hair behind her ear, offering Louis a tiny smile as Mack wails where her mother is picking her up.

“But I’m playing with _bumble bees_!” she screams.

“Can you please at least _try_ to behave?” Elizabeth asks as she’s nearing her original spot in order to join them, Mack pretty much hung over her shoulder as the toddler squirms.  “God, I’m gonna have to get you a baby sitter.”

Louis raises both of his eyebrows as he folds his arms over his chest.  “ _Or_ you could’ve just let me stay at home, and _I_ could’ve babysat her.”

“No—you _know_ I need you here,” she replies, rubbing against Mack’s back as it seems the girl finally begins to settle down.

“ _Why_?” Louis asks.  “My opinions on flowers aren’t exactly valuable, if I’m being honest.”

“Two pairs of eyes are always better,” she replies, slightly beginning to bounce Mack.  “It’s a basic rule of wedding planning.”

Louis sighs, turning back to face the flower lady as it seems she patiently waits for their exchange with one eye that’s twitching only faintly.  “Whatever you say, sis.”

“Sorry he’s being such a grump,” Elizabeth says to the lady, Mack beginning to shake around in order to communicate that she wants to be let down.  “My mother will replace him as my planning partner when work lets her off.”

It seems she unknowingly lets Mack back down onto the ground as she falls into a bit of lighthearted chatter with the lady about wedding planning and how mothers always have the best eye for everything, and even though Louis is simply standing there, he’s growing overwhelmed.

It doesn’t help when his phone vibrates in the pocket of his hoodie, and he pulls it out with fear that it’s going to be work attempting to bother him when he’s supposed to be on vacation.

It turns out to be Zayn, which pleasantly surprises him as he opens the text.

 **Zayn:** _wanna meet up for brekkie_

Louis scrunches his nose as he reads it, because it’s so like Zayn to use an abbreviated form of breakfast.  He instantly thinks _yes_ in response to it, but it only takes him a few seconds to conjure up a question in his mind that definitely needs to be answered.

 **Louis:** _With just u or everyone?_

He gets a reply fairly quickly, much to his satisfaction.

 **Zayn:** _all of us, we’re all bored and hungry_

 **Zayn:** _idk about harry though.  he might not join_

Louis bites the inside of his cheek as he reads the text, because he can’t work off of an “I don’t know”.

He closes his eyes for a bit, setting his fingers upon the bridge of his nose as he attempts to stifle the irritation inside of him.

It’s like…he wants Harry to be there, but at the same time he doesn’t, and it’s just making everything so hard.  His fucking _best friends_ are here and he wants to spend every single moment with them that he can, but he doesn’t want to weave his way around Harry and he doesn’t want Harry to weave his way around _him_ , because it’ll just make things awkward, and—why did he even invite him again?

He wants Harry here.  Of course he does.  He would be a total jerk to invite everyone else and leave him out.  Doing that would just show that he’s angry, and bothered, and still ruffled after all these years, and he’s past that.  He just didn’t think he’d actually _come._ In fact, since he’d never gotten a call back after leaving the voice message, he’d been absolutely certain that the man wasn’t coming, but then there he was, popping up right in front of Louis’ face and scaring the crap out of him.  Louis definitely wasn’t prepared to meet him (or, _re-_ meet him) last night.  At least not in _that_ way.

He just…wishes things weren’t so hard between them.  He wishes things wouldn’t have to be difficult, and there wasn’t this barrier, and—he’s not _hostile_ towards the man, and obviously Harry’s not hostile toward him, because he’s here, but.  Something’s definitely still _off_.  Something’s missing.

“And these are beautiful lilac flowers.  As you can see, they’re especially unique for a traditional wedding, and most claim that they smell faintly of cotton candy, but you can get a sniff for yourself—“

“I see _no_ difference in these flowers,” Louis blurts, not even knowing how snappy he sounds until he says it.  “None whatsoever.”

Both of them go quiet as their eyes fall upon him, and that’s when he realizes how harshly he’d come undone for a second there.  It’s just that the irritation of having his friends here, _plus_ having a guy along with them that he hasn’t spoken to in ages, _plus_ being suffocated in this flower garden for almost four hours is starting to get to him a bit.

“I’m sorry.  I’ve just had a long morning,” Louis apologizes, already taking one step in order to back away.  “I just—I need a breather really quick, okay?”

Neither of them have intentions of saying anything as he proceeds to walk away, finding the exit fence of this god forsaken place and hoping he never has to see flowers at such a large scale ever again.

He calls Zayn once he’s let himself outside of the fence, and after he brings the phone up to his ear, the man answers within seconds.

“What’s up?” he greets.

“So where are you guys at?” Louis asks.

Zayn proceeds to explain to him that they’re roaming down the streets in search of places to eat, and they all want Louis there because he knows the city and can show them around. 

“Figured you’d know all the hotspots,” Zayn says, Louis hearing the fond smile in his voice.

Louis braces his mouth in order to ask a question, but he begins to decide against it as he simply breathes.  If he asks the question again, it’ll just show that he cares—that the guy’s presence is going to bother him, which it isn’t.

“Come,” Zayn adds, using a sincere tone of voice that he knows Louis can never deny.

Louis nods, his lips pulling upward on one corner.  “Okay,” he says.  “You guys just don’t stray too far away, alright?  I’ll be there.”

And with that, they sign off, and he pockets his phone before heading back inside of the flower garden.

It seems that they’re just beginning to finish up as Elizabeth slips her purse back onto her shoulder and shakes hands with the lady, which is absolutely perfect.  Louis waits until they’ve said their goodbyes and Elizabeth is heading over in order to get Mack to stop pulling at blades of grass.

“I’m gonna go meet up with my friends for breakfast.  Is that okay?” Louis asks.  “You don’t have anything planned after this?”

She looks contemplative for a moment as she pulls grass out of Mack’s hands.  “Not _immediately_ after this, but—“

“Great,” Louis replies, giving her a pat on the shoulder before he begins to retreat.  “I will definitely see you in a few hours.”

While he’s on the way there, he decides that maybe it’s a good thing that Harry won’t be there.  Of course, him _not_ being there solidifies the fact that there’s definite animosity in the air between them, which Louis _really_ doesn’t want, but he’s still starting to feel relief because he’s not quite sure he’s… _ready_ for that.  For whatever comes with it.

He can’t outright say he doesn’t want Harry here, because last night when he’d ran into the man after Mack had scurried off in search of strangers to bother, Louis felt a sense of refreshment, looking into his eyes for the first time in years, that he hadn’t felt in such a while.  He’d wanted to say so much, but at the same time he didn’t, because if either of them really cared, they would’ve stayed in touch.  He just didn’t know _what_ to say because he’d run into him so abruptly, so naturally, his body reacted with fight-or-flight, and obviously he chose the latter.

He can’t deny that the same subtle warmth he always used to feel around Harry came back instantly, the moment he looked up and saw that it was him.

He wonders if it was the same for Harry.

Louis can’t help thinking about this as he’s walking down the boulevard Zayn claimed they were strolling upon, his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets and his head down.  He wonders if these mixed feelings will continue for the rest of the days the men are going to be here.

He knows when he’s reaching them because, even though they’d rejoiced in reunion already, he hears Niall yell his name excitedly from afar.

He looks up to find them doing exactly what Zayn’d claimed—strolling leisurely down the sidewalk, opposite of the way Louis is walking, which is why he immediately meets eyes with Niall as the man rushes towards him with outstretched arms.

Louis falls right into the tight hug as the man presses his smiles into the crook of his neck and shakes him around, but he can’t _fully_ concentrate on the embrace and put his all into it because of what he sees over Niall’s shoulder.

It’s Harry.

He’s there, and he’s looking down at his fingernails awkwardly as Liam and Zayn hold hands next to him, Liam whispering something in Zayn’s ear (that’s not quiet enough and clearly has something to do with Louis).

Niall has already begun speaking wildly about the subpar room service in their hotel once Louis is offering his hugs to both of the other men, putting as much enthusiasm as he can into it as they all seem to be getting right back into the happy, friendly mood they’d been in last night.

Louis has no choice but to step in front of the man after he’s done with all of the others, and he decides he’s over with the weird, awkward shit.  This isn’t the first time he’s had to work with, be around, and simply talk to people in difficult situations, and he’s got this.

He puts on a happy grin as he approaches the man, already bringing his arms out as invitation for a hug.

“Sorry we didn’t get to properly greet each other last night,” Louis says, Harry looking up at him as though he’s not even sure if Louis’ talking to him, despite the fact that he’s literally facing him directly.  “I was a bit disoriented and busy.”

Harry seems to come unclenched just a bit as he returns the hug, and the embrace is lackluster, complete with loose arms and no sense of closeness, but Louis had hugged everyone else, so this has to be done.

It’s…definitely different from the hugs they used to share, but—it doesn’t matter.  Louis isn’t thinking about those things.

“Yeah, I was too,” Harry replies, laughing nervously as he runs a hand through his hair and steps back.  “Um…” he begins, tapping a finger against his bottom lip as Louis simply watches him, getting just a little distracted by how…different he is.  He has this nervous nature surrounding him that Louis certainly doesn’t remember, he’s not _out_ and _loud_ and vibrant, and he looks like he’s actually _stopping_ himself from rambling.

It also becomes evident that all the other men have gone outstandingly quiet, and Louis won’t dare turn around, because he knows he’ll find them staring with closely observant eyes.

“Congrats to your sister,” Harry continues eventually, his lips pressed tightly as he makes what is probably supposed to be grin.  “Weddings are always nice.”

Louis’ mouth is opened, and he’s just about to say something additionally empty and hollow in order to continue the pattern they’ve started, but someone seems to come around the corner of the sidewalk, approaching behind Harry as he looks down at his phone.  Someone Louis doesn’t know.

“Checked out this place called Flapjack Shack,” he announces fairly loudly, coming up next to Harry and casually using his free hand in order to lace their fingers together, Louis’ eyes rapidly moving down to look at their joined hands.

“The place sucked,” he continues with a scoff, Harry now fiercely looking down at his shoes, almost in shame.  “Didn’t even have bacon on the menu, can you believe?”

It seems that once he takes a brief break from scrolling through whatever’s on his phone, his eyes flutter up to Louis in a double-take sort of fashion, and everything just _pauses_ for a moment.

Louis’ mouth is still open in preparation for how he was about to respond to Harry, but he completely forgets whatever he was going to say as he and this mystery man lock eyes.

Then, Louis plants a smile upon his face, slipping right back into a genial state as he approaches the man with a firm, outstretched hand.

“Hi, I’m Louis,” he greets, the guy pocketing his phone as he prepares to shake Louis’ hand.

“Brother of the bride, right?” he asks, his eyes narrowing a hint, and he seems more clear about everything once Louis nods.  “I’m Caleb.”

“Great,” Louis replies, his smile growing abnormally huge as he glances between Caleb and Harry. 

He then steps back, clasping his hands together as he proceeds to rotate in order to address everybody.  “I know a _great_ food place a few blocks from here.  Shall we?”

And that’s the end of that.  The rest of them fall back into their casual moods, Niall even immediately suggesting that they postpone eating so that Louis can show them around for a while.

It actually ends up extremely enjoyable as they walk around aimlessly and the morning turns into the afternoon, because Harry and his pal stay relatively behind the group, clearly having their own conversations and only following halfheartedly.  The weather is nicely moderate and the sun is luminous without beating down on them, so Louis lets himself go as he leads them this way and that, laughing carelessly with the rest of them and describing key areas he usually passes through on his journey to work, as well as the plethora of shoppes and public spaces he hangs out a lot in.

It’s long and pleasant, simply walking around and getting to talk and catch up with his friends, and by the time they’ve finally decided to waltz into one of Louis’ favorite diners in order to eat, Louis has forgotten that Harry is even with them altogether.

“ _This_ is the place you were talking about on the phone that one time,” Zayn comments once they’re stepping inside, his eyes growing with interest as he looks around at the checkered floors and round blue tables.

Louis smiles with a nod as he leads the way toward the front counter where he usually likes to sit, gesturing at one of the waiters that carries a tray of brunch entrees while gliding around in skates.

“The one where that one waitress accidentally dropped your food on you?” Niall asks, hoisting himself up onto the seat right next to Louis as he sets his elbows on the counter.

Louis raises his eyebrows, because he didn’t know they just _remembered_ so many details of the several trivial phone conversations they’ve shared over the recent years, and it’s heartwarming, knowing how much they pay attention.

“This place smells like syrup,” Liam says, his head rested on Zayn’s shoulder as he turns to bury his nose in it for a moment.

“Well, that’s what comes with a breakfast diner, isn’t it?” Louis asks, tilting his head in order to blink at the man.

“Me and Liam let go of syrup a while ago,” Zayn says, running his thumb across the man’s cheek.  “We’ve strictly stuck to honey for like, the last two years.  It’s more natural and great for your immune system.”

“Right…” Louis replies, his mouth curving on each side even though he’s trying to be patronizing.  He fails, however, because Liam and Zayn are just such a _thing_.  They’ve thrived in ways Louis’ pretty sure the rest of them haven’t, they’re always traveling together, piggy backing off of each other, and their worries are so tiny that they’re stressed about stuff like whether they’re going to use _honey_ or _syrup_ for their pancakes.

Louis has also gotten much closer to Liam in the recent years, because it seemed that Zayn had pulled him out of whatever funk he’d been in back when he and Louis were flat mates.  He came to discover that the man wasn’t always just some angry, selfish robot, but he was actually going through the instant tangible and emotional effects of his parents getting divorced, which has made Louis feel really bad for a while now, since he never really stopped to ask him what was wrong.  It makes many things much clearer now, and it’s taught Louis that maybe he should’ve stopped and looked around him sometimes instead of writing people off because of how mad he was at the world.  Liam’s still weird, and he cleans when he’s stressed, and he says things he knows he shouldn’t (things that everyone is thinking), but Louis adores him much more now, and he quite likes his presence, as well as the fact that he’s so happy with Zayn.

They’re all having a bit of meaningless banter as they’re looking over menus, Niall sat on the right side of Louis, Zayn sat on the left, Liam sat by Zayn, and Harry and Caleb off on the very end, once again, having their own conversations—although Harry’s occasionally quietly adding commentary to something either Liam or Zayn says, since they’re the closest to him.

Louis’ still in cordial mode, however, and he wants things to be _comfortable_.

He tilts his head forward in order to look at the man as he swings in his seat a bit.  “Figured _you’d_ like this place, huh?” Louis asks.  “What with the roller skates, and all.”

Harry immediately laughs gently in response, his hands joined together upon the countertop as he vaguely shakes his head.  “No, I’m…” he begins, speaking quietly and almost mumbling.  “I’m not really into that anymore.”

One of Louis’ eyebrows quirks upward as he chews on his bottom lip, feeling that same pinch of disenchantment that he’d felt earlier as he’d watched the man attempt to simply speak.

“Haven’t even done that in years, actually,” he adds, pressing his lips into that same fake grin.

Luckily, the awkward silence portraying how evident it is that he and Harry haven’t spoken even _once_ since they last saw each other gets interrupted when the drinks they’d requested are set down in front of them, Louis turning to face back forward as he blinks with almost empty eyes.

He feels a gentle nudge at his arm from his left, and he turns to find Zayn grinning warmly at him as he slides the menu towards him.

“What do you usually get?” he asks, and just like that, Louis’ focus is reestablished as he allows himself to be once again comfortable.

Throughout the rest of their breakfast, Louis pushes himself to make things easier by not thinking about everything too much.  He doesn’t _try_ to exclude Harry from the numerous, quickly changing conversations they have as they eat, but Harry’s far away, so naturally, that happens. 

It seems he’s more interested in talking with his _guy_ anyway.

At some point, Louis does sort of…watch them for a moment.

He figures it’s a good thing for Harry.  This is good.

Louis used to spend a lot of time wondering why Harry never had anyone special, so now, as he watches Caleb talk lowly into his ear, the man shying away from him with hushed giggles and lazy hands, Louis has no reason to be anything but happy for him.

He guesses Caleb is the man’s _type_ , although he’d never really taken Harry to be into the rugged, taller ones—but then again, he doesn’t know Harry.  At least _this_ Harry, because a lot changes over five years.  He doesn’t know Harry anymore.

“Bet that’s tough to look at,” he hears, Niall’s voice shockingly close behind his ear, which causes Louis to shift his head abruptly in order to look at him.

Louis’ face twists with puzzlement as he stares at the man.  “What?”

“Caleb,” Niall replies, touching his elbow to Louis’ for emphasis.  “I told him that sweater was horrendous.”

Louis laughs with little dedication, feeling a faint sense of ease come over him as Niall laughs right along.  He glances back for a brief instant in order to get a good look at his sweater, and the numerous contrasting colors and patterns embroidered into the design _are_ a bit of an eyesore.

“Not all of us are fashionably inclined,” Louis says, gesturing at himself and the lazy get-up he’s wearing, which consists of a large black hoodie and equally lazy sweatpants.

“Guess you’re right about that part,” Niall agrees, before moving his lips in order to sip at his straw for a moment.  He swallows before opening his mouth to speak again, Louis listening as he absentmindedly taps his fork against his plate and gives the guy his attention.  “Did you notice we’re the only ones here who _haven’t_ sacrificed our freedom for relationships?”

Louis nods as he sucks his teeth, before reaching out in order to shake Niall’s shoulder.  “Yours is by choice, though,” Louis tells him, Niall already shaking his head as though he’s not buying it.

“You’re telling me you’re not single by choice?”

“I mean…” Louis begins, messing with his sleeves for a moment as he breathes through his nose.  “I haven’t found anybody.  I would _like_ to find somebody, I guess, since that’s the normal thing to do but I just…haven’t.”

Niall pats him on the shoulder harshly.  “Consider yourself lucky, dude,” he replies, before swiftly taking one of Louis’ hands in his, holding onto it firmly.  “We’re team single _forever!”_ he yells tremendously loud, followed by a hyena-like howl of jubilation that has Louis wincing.

The man’s outburst had been so deafening that mostly everything in the diner has stopped, including the skating of the waitresses as they slow down and every other costumer at their table as they begin to wonder what exactly is wrong with this screaming man.

“Dude I think you need to lower your enthusiasm just a bit,” Louis says gently, holding up pinched fingers and feeling as though he’s the first person to break the silence Niall had brought about.

Everything gradually reverts back to normalcy, although Louis’ certain there are several questions that many people want to ask.

“Yelling out loud in a public space where everything’s generally quiet,” Niall says, as though reciting something, before he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, and—Louis had completely forgotten about that.

“ _God_ , you’re still doing that?” Louis asks, his face partly incredulous and partly beaming with adoration as Niall pulls the paper in front of him that looks as though it’s been through war.

“Yep,” Niall replies with a wide grin, using a stray pen on the counter in order to check off what he’d just accomplished.

“I _love_ this man,” Louis claims with delight, digging his hands into Niall’s shoulders and then turning in order to let both Zayn and Liam know that he indeed, loves this man.

“So Louis,” Caleb pipes up, the man’s voice instantly grabbing Louis’ interest as he blinks mechanically and turns his head toward the sound of his name.  “What do you do?” he asks curiously.

Louis ignores the tiny hint of judgment behind the man’s tone, figuring it’s probably just his imagination that had heard it.  “Remember that skyscraper I showed you guys toward downtown?” Louis asks, motioning the height of it with his hand.  “I’m an executive assistant at the sales company there.”

Both of Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up high, Harry’s eyes down as he thoroughly focuses on his nearly empty plate.  “So you’re makin’ the _big_ bucks, huh?”

Louis would’ve taken it as a compliment if it weren’t for the increased amounts of sourness behind the words he’s saying, which Louis doesn’t think he’s imagining anymore.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Louis replies with a sigh, his gaze half-focused on how it seems Harry refuses to move his eyes anywhere else other than his plate.

“Sure beats being a nurse,” Caleb continues, swinging his feet from where he’s propped up on his chair.  He then lifts his glass of water, gesturing in Louis’ general direction and speaking before he takes a sip.  “Kudos to you.”

It seems that’s all the conversation there’s going to be between them as he proceeds to scrape his plate for any last remnants of scrambled egg, and Louis sets his gaze back forth, growing weary of the fact that Harry won’t look at him.

After they get through with the diner and decide to finally slip out, Louis’ faced with a bunch of men that possess very different ideas of how they want the rest of their day to go.

“But I don’t _wanna_ spend the rest of my life in that hotel room,” Niall whines after Liam had suggested they call it a day and go rest after having done so much walking around.

They’re stood right upon the sidewalk of several connected buildings along the boulevard.  It’s usually a busy area, but right now it’s filled with nothing but a few citizens walking leisurely, either with their phones to their ears or with their tiny dogs on leashes.

“We’re finally getting to see each other again, and you guys wanna _rest_?” Niall continues, acting as though he’s giving a motivational speech as he steps out in front of them.

Caleb yawns dramatically in response, mouth uncovered and all, much to Niall’s dismay as he crosses his arms.

Zayn comes up to Niall, placing an arm around his shoulder and bringing him in.  “C’mon.  We’re here for six more days,” he assures him.  “You’ll be fine.”

“If I’m gonna be honest, I need a break too, and my sister’s probably freaking out wondering when I’ll be back,” Louis adds, hands deep in his pockets as he rocks on his feet.

It appears that this is what pacifies Niall’s complaints as he removes himself from Zayn’s hold, approaching Louis and setting both hands on his shoulders.

“Can I come with you?” he asks, his voice low and comically serious, which immediately brings Louis to laugh as he replies.

“Why?”

“I have to talk with her.  It’s about something important.”

Louis rolls his eyes as he shifts on his feet, already knowing this is about Niall making another one of his numerous attempts at warning her about the constraints of marriage.

“Fine, whatever,” Louis replies, already beginning in the direction he knows will lead him to his condo as he tilts his head in order to signal the man to follow.  “I guess I’ll see you guys—”

“Hey, um…” Louis hears from behind before he’s even properly left the rest of them.  The man’s voice brings him to instantly stop in his tracks, gradually turning on his heel as it seems Niall does the exact same.

“I’m not really worn out for the day yet either,” Harry says, pushing a grin onto his lips as he plays with his fingers.  “I’ve also never told Elizabeth congrats, so…”

It takes a lifetime for Louis to respond as he simply processes the fact that the man has actually _acknowledged_ him in what seems like centuries, but he eventually nods, offering him a tiny smile.

“Sure, yeah,” Louis replies, nodding his head much more vigorously now. 

They quickly come to a consensus about what’s going to take place in terms of who’s going where, and as Harry’s giving his boyfriend a brief goodbye and letting the man kiss him on the cheek, Louis doesn’t even notice how tightly his own jaw is clenched.

His chest feels heavy and his palms feel exceptionally sweaty, so he doesn’t plan on taking them out of his pockets anytime soon.  Elizabeth’s never met Harry, but she _knows_ about him, so Louis’ not sure how he’s supposed to be feeling right now.

Of course, there’s a sense of relief at the fact that Harry’s now actively walking with them down the sidewalk (Niall positioned between the both of them), because he assumes this is the man’s attempt at trying, just like Louis’ doing.  He’s _trying_ and Louis has no choice but to be grateful of that, instead of focusing on this weird apprehension he’s starting to feel about Harry coming into his house for the first time.   He needs to be tough and suck it up.  This is the first step to getting through an entire week with the man.

“So what are you plotting with Elizabeth, exactly?” Louis asks Niall as they walk.

“Nothing,” the man replies, shaking his head as the sneaky air to his smile suggests something else.  “Just giving her ‘the talk’.”

“So you’re assuming the role of her mother, I see,” Louis replies.  “You know we already have someone in that position, right?”

There comes the distant sound of Harry laughing on the other side of him, which causes Louis’ lips to curve lightly on one end as they continue walking.

“It’s great to see that you’re still witty,” Harry says, although not looking directly at Louis as he says it, which causes whatever smile Louis was about to wear to fade.

“I have to be, or else I’d never get through work,” Louis replies, to which Harry laughs softly again in his light, held-back giggles that Louis’ taking a while to get used to.

Niall sets an abrupt hand on Louis’ shoulder, as though something has suddenly crossed his mind.  “Wait—is Mack at home?” he asks, his eyes glinting with hopefulness.  “I wanna see how much she’s grown up.”

Louis nods as he kicks at a stray leaf on the sidewalk.  “Yeah she should be,” Louis replies.  “Probably jumping all over the couches, plotting ways she’s gonna run me up a wall when I get there.”

Niall chuckles in response, but it sounds like Harry coughs quietly, which peaks Louis’ interest as he tilts his head over at the man.

“She’s already done that with you, judging by last night,” Louis adds.

Harry shakes his head as he mouths the word “no”.  “She didn’t bother me,” he replies.  “Your daughter’s actually really cute.”

The man’s words cause both Louis and Niall—simultaneously—to come to a complete stop as they look at each other with furrowed brows.  It only takes half a second for Niall to burst into over-the-top laughter, the man leaning forward and beating at his knees, Louis holding his lips together and doing his best not to guffaw with amusement as he clutches his chest.

He looks up to find Harry appearing both confused and conflicted, his face shifting in expression with every drifting second.

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis says, Niall now bracing himself on Louis’ shoulder as he attempts to find balance in the middle of laughing hysterically.  “That’s _not_ my daughter.  That’s my niece—she’s Elizabeth’s."

Harry’s mouth is open long before he says anything, his head nodding wholeheartedly as they slowly continue their walking.

“Oh.”

“I can’t believe you actually _thought_ that,” Niall snickers before reaching out and messing up Harry’s hair, the man attempting to push him away.  “You really think _Louis’_ ready for fatherhood?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Louis mutters, although it’s mildly playful as he shoves at the man, moving in order to trade places with him so that he can explain to a red-cheeked Harry.  “I can now see why you thought that though, but no.  She’s only with me temporarily because her parents are—for the wedding, they wanted to be here, and—it’s a long story, actually.”

It’s not really, but Louis’ talking to Harry for too long and it feels weird.

Louis’ sure it’s the first time he’s seen the man’s dimple as Harry nods along, appearing as though his mood has improved just a hint.  “Nah, I get it,” he replies.  “Can’t blame me, though.  I don’t remember you being bad with kids.”

Louis smiles right back, the wind causing Harry’s hair to sway with gentle movements.  “Yeah, I _know_ ,” Louis says pointedly, nudging Niall where the man is working to wipe his face free of tears.  “I could be a very good father, Niall.  _Great_ , even.”

“Yeah right,” Niall replies.

As Harry laughs at their exchange with less restraint, Louis can already feel whatever awkward barbed wire fence had been between them beginning to lift away—it’s not _completely_ gone though, because there will always be that underlying question of _why the fuck didn’t you call me for five years_ , but for _now_ , it seems as though things are starting to take a more positive route.

Once they reach Louis’ building, Harry doesn’t hold back in voicing how nice the place looks from the outside, much to Louis’ pleasure as they walk up to his front door.  He always drowns in pride whenever people compliment his home, because it’s one of the few things he actually feels gratification about.  Being _alone_ in it, however—that’s the only part that’s not so great.

Niall is already taking Mack on express piggy back rides after they’ve been in the condo for two minutes, and Harry seems as though he’s uncertain of what to do as he twiddles his thumbs, his eyes big as they roam the house endlessly.

Mack is still riding upon Niall’s back as he makes another lap around the living room when she suddenly points a sharp finger at Harry.  “Hey, _you_ don’t know how to hold a cup!” Mack exclaims, long after she’d been silently eyeing the man for a long time, probably trying to figure out where she remembered his face from. 

Louis furrows his eyebrows out of confusion, figuring it probably has to do with how they’d so _magically_ met last night, but he doesn’t get to dwell on it too much before Elizabeth emerges from the hallway without a sound, setting a hand on his shoulder and speaking closely next to him.

“Who is this?” she asks, keeping her voice at a minimum as they both now watch Harry talk to Mack as the little one rests her chin upon Niall’s shoulder.

Louis grinds his teeth together just a bit, thinking for a split second about whether he should lie or tell the truth.

He shakes his head at himself, remembering that he’s twenty-seven and way past the point of lying, especially since this is his _little_ sister.

“Harry,” he replies, and just as she’s opening her mouth, taking in a fair amount of breath in preparation to say something wild, Louis turns toward her, motioning in front of her lips to resemble zipping it shut.

She slowly understands, her shoulders falling with disappointment as Louis locks the imaginary key at the corner of her mouth and proceeds to throw it away.

 _Don’t_ , he mouths, followed by a nice grin that both of them know has a threatening promise behind it.

Elizabeth nods before walking away from Louis and already switching her facial expression from dispirited to smiley as she approaches Harry, arms held out.

She makes an authentic act of introducing herself and sufficiently doing a good job of asking what his name is, as though Louis hadn’t told her just a few seconds before, and this is one of the many reasons Louis is proud to have her as a sister.

“Congratulations on getting married,” Harry tells her with a smile after they’ve gotten through introductions.

She joins her hands together, a hopeful air to her smile as she speaks.  “So…did you just come with Niall and the rest of them?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies.  “Brought my boyfriend along too.”  His face twists just a bit as it appears something crosses his mind, and he puts a hand up.  “And I just realized I never even asked if bringing an extra person was allowed.”

“Oh, of _course_.  I want as many people as possible,” she responds, patting at his chest gently.  “Just as long as you RSVP’d.”

Niall laughs under his breath as he delicately squats down in order to set Mack down on her two feet. 

Harry shoves a hand in his pocket as he chuckles.  “Totally,” he laughs.

Louis finds it refreshing that he’s still such a noticeably horrible liar.

“Of course we did,” Niall says, before bringing a hand to Elizabeth’s back in order to lead her away.  “But I need to talk with you for a moment.  Like, have a real, serious talk.”

Elizabeth is already sighing as Niall leads her away, looking behind herself at Louis as her last plea for help, but all Louis can do is shrug helplessly as the man takes her into the den.

Louis cups a hand by his mouth once she’s out of sight, Mack now bothering Harry with a slew of overly curious questions.  “Don’t listen to a single word he says!”

He hears Niall yell something back that sounds quite hostile, but he can hardly hear it.

Louis’ eyes shift to where Harry is sat on the couch, responding to Mack’s question of why his last name is “Styles”, and he suddenly becomes hyperaware of the fact that they’re practically alone.

He and Mack seem to be having a deep conversation as they get to know each other though, so Louis figures they don’t want to be interrupted with his company. 

He goes over to the side table where Elizabeth has left one of her checklists full of last minute stuff she has to get done for the wedding, and he picks it up in order to scan over it and see if she’s gotten anything done since they’d gone flower shopping.

He isn’t surprised that nothing’s checked off, which brings him to huff exhaustedly, because he knows he’s just going to have to end up doing all of these things with her later.

Louis’ shocked that the wedding is _still_ on with how last-minute everything is becoming, but he figures it won’t end badly.  It’s sort of their family trait, thriving off of last minute pressure.

Louis’ eyes are brought away from the paper in front of him when Mack’s abrupt giggles echo throughout the living room, and he finds that Harry’s making himself a mustache out of her untamed hair.  The sight brings a subconscious grin of fondness to come about upon his lips as he sets the paper back down against the side table.

He silently watches from the corner of the living room, Mack taking several breaths as she recovers from her giggly episode, before she deems Harry as her new best friend and proceeds to give him the imaginary friendship bracelets that she hasn’t even given _Louis_ yet.

“Did you hear that?” Harry asks, accepting Mack’s hug as she gets on her tippy toes in order to wrap her arms around his neck.  “I’m her new best friend.”

“Of course you are,” Louis replies, walking over hesitantly as he scratches at his elbow.  “Kids always just seemed to adore you.”

Harry nods in agreement, watching as Louis comes to sit down in one of the couches near the sofa Harry’s situated upon.

“Guess that’s why I became a teacher,” he says, giving Mack full access to his hands as she compares the sizes of their palms.

Louis’ lips part as he’s taken aback only slightly, but he knows he shouldn’t be surprised.  “You’re a teacher?”

“Yep,” Harry replies with a proud nod.  “I’m approaching my second-year mark, actually.”

Louis smiles genuinely, feeling a sincere rush of happiness for him, accompanied by something _else_ that he can’t quite pinpoint as his eyes narrow to a tiny degree.

 _That’s_ when it comes to him.

“What about…” Louis begins, chewing on his lip for a moment in order to prepare for the surge of emotion he’s going to feel when he says it.  “What about the internship?”

He was right about the surge of emotion, and he can swear he feels an instant chill from just the sound of his own question.  He can’t wait for the day when the remembrance of it no longer has this kind of effect on him.

The question seems to throw Harry off guard just a little, probably because it was so long ago and he has to put in effort in order to remember what exactly had gone wrong.

“Oh, I—I just kinda realized that wasn’t for me,” Harry replies, Mack now lifting his hand as high as she can whilst she attempts to twirl herself around.  “Realized it almost instantly, really…”

Louis’ lips remain parted as he takes in Harry’s words, and he continues to feel that chilling sensation even more so now.  This time around, however, it’s mixed with a bit of a headache.  And his chest is beginning to feel as though there’s a weight being pressed against it.  And he has a sudden urge to be angry, he just doesn’t know why.  _What_ is he supposed to be mad at?

“But I liked the area, and stuff,” Harry continues.  “So I stayed there.”

Louis swallows as he offers the man one nod, trying his best to keep his expression light and friendly.

“I’m…wow,” Louis begins, stammering as he raises his eyebrows.  “You and Niall, both teachers.  I can say I saw it coming with _you_ , but _Niall_ …not so much,” he jokes, forcing out a brief giggle as Harry does the same.

“Ah, I’ll give him about a year before he gets bored,” Harry replies, finally lifting Mack up in order to settle her on his lap.  “The kids love him though—he owns the title of _most laidback teacher_ , and honestly, I believe he robbed me of that.”

“Wait—you guys work at the same _school_?” Louis asks, aware that he’ s now blatantly showing his incredulity on his face.

Harry knits his brows together as his dimples deepen, as though amused by how taken aback Louis is by this.  “Yeah…” he begins reluctantly.  “I mean…this is old news, really.”

“Yet everything is coming at me so fast it seems brand new,” Louis replies, blinking as he cocks his head just a little.

“Well,” Harry starts, his volume level dropping substantially.  “I mean…you would’ve known this stuff if you’d like, called or…”  He scratches at his nose as Louis purely blinks at him, all of those _feelings_ he’d been feeling just a bit earlier beginning to intensify severely.  “Or—or did anything to reach out—“

“I’m still getting married Niall,” Elizabeth’s voice materializes, both of their heads flicking toward the hallway as it now seems his sister and Niall are done with their conversation.

“Hear me out though,” Niall replies as he follows behind her, Elizabeth now actively covering both of her ears, which does nothing to stop him from proceeding to talk.  “ _Domestic partnership_ —look it up!” the man tries one last time, Elizabeth continuing her journey away and in the direction of the kitchen as Niall gives up.

“She’s gonna wish she listened to me,” Niall says, joining Louis on the couch with a huff. 

Mack’s already forcefully sliding her way off of Harry’s lap in order to approach him.

Louis’ mind is still stuck on the prior conversation that had taken place, which is why he shifts his body to face Niall as he speaks.  “You never told me you worked with Harry.”

Niall’s eyes move between the both of them for a moment as Mack drums against one of his knees, and he almost perfectly resembles that of a deer in headlights.

Then he shrugs, pursing his lips slightly.  “Thought you didn’t care, to be honest.”

Louis’ just about to say something in order to totally _refute_ that statement, but Niall keeps talking before he can.

“Oh my God—some of the artwork my students create though, it’s _hilarious_ ,” the man says, already falling into laughter by the end of his sentence.  “You’ve gotta see it.  Seriously.”  He suddenly sits up much straighter as a thought zooms through his mind, and his eyes widen at Louis as he cheeses at him.  “Actually, I just remembered—I _have_ some of them with me.  I usually carry them around so that whenever I need a smile, I can just pull them out.”

Louis bites back a grin as his eyes grow by a tiny bit.  “There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“I know, but—“ the man cuts himself off, grabbing Louis’ wrist as he gets to his feet.  “C’mon, I _have_ to show them to you guys.”

“Did we not come _all_ the way here, _just_ because you didn’t want to stay at the hotel—“

“Don’t,” Harry says, shaking his head knowingly as he gets up right along with them.  “Don’t try to understand him.  You never will.”

Louis laughs in response, starting to feel a much more heightened sense of familiarity than before, even though there’s still that partially buried outrage somewhere within him that’s dying to be let out.

The evening has just begun when they’re headed to the hotel the men are staying in (by _vehicle_ this time, because Louis’ feet are done for), and once they arrive, it’s brought to Louis’ knowledge that Harry had gotten a separate room from the rest of them, which is why he peeks his head into the room across the hall briefly after using his key to unlock it.

“He’s not in there?” Niall asks nonchalantly as he slides the key in for the room on the other side of the hall.

Harry simply shakes his head as he walks back up to join them, and the casual nature of it causes Louis to questoningly raise an eyebrow.

“Where is he then?” he asks out of pure curiosity as they finally get let into the suite after Niall’s numerous attempts at getting the key to work.

“Probably _out_ ,” he replies simply, avoiding Louis’ eye as he follows behind Niall.  “Not really my place to, uh…”

Harry doesn’t get to finish that thought—actually, he _does_ have the opportunity, but it seems he doesn’t want to take it as he turns his attention toward Niall, the man pressing his ear against the door of the bedroom Zayn and Liam are staying in and listening quietly.

“What a bunch of losers,” Niall mutters, before gently pushing away from the door and starting toward the _other_ room of the suite—the one he’s staying in alone.  “They’re taking a _nap._   Can you believe?”

“Zayn probably has his head rested on top of Liam’s so he can see his dreams,” Harry jokes as he follows into his bedroom, Niall laughing instantly in response.

“You know he’s actually tried that before, right?”

They fall into gentle jesting about the outlandish shit Zayn and Liam probably do to grow closer to each other as Niall digs through his many bags in order to retrieve these horrid pieces of art he’d been talking about, and as much as Louis would like to join in as effortlessly as they are, he can’t, because weirdly enough, his mind is still stuck on Caleb.

He just doesn’t understand how Harry can be so casual about not even knowing where the man is, almost to the point where it seems as though he doesn't even want to acknowledge it.  It’s unsettling, and it’s slowly but surely awakening that ingrained part of Louis that always had a natural need to protect the boy.

Louis does his best to shrug it off once all three of them are gathered on top of Niall’s bed, actively looking through students' art pieces that are really quite…something. 

“I don’t even think this is allowed,” Harry says at some point, although by his quivering face, they all know he wants to laugh.

“This one is supposed to be _me_ ,” Niall says, pulling a different picture away from the rest of them as he remains relaxed on his stomach, his legs kicking behind him in the air.  “Why is my face green?”

Louis actually bursts with laughter, unable to hold it in anymore as he buries his face in the blanket.  “This is wrong,” he mumbles through puffs, before turning his face on its side.  “They tried their best, at least.”

“Now that I think about it, I really should’ve brought along some of my students' persuasive essays,” Harry adds with giggles as he remains laying on his side.

“You teach English?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, propping his head up on his fist.

“Wow.  You’ve gone all nerdy on me,” Louis replies, his lips pulling into a small crooked grin.

“Yep.  Ask me anything about Oscar Wilde and I’ll tell you.”

“When I actually figure out who Oscar Wilde is, I’ll make sure to do that,” Louis says, to which Harry dramatically gasps.

“I’m…” Harry begins, tilting his head just a touch as he closes his eyes.  “I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

Louis laughs with carefree chortles, finding it entertaining to witness Harry care about something so fiercely.  Something that has to do with _English_ and _academics_.

A lot of time is spent in Niall’s hotel bedroom, looking over and even going as far as to thoroughly analyze some more pieces of student artwork, laughing about different experiences they’ve had at each of their jobs (Harry with a kid who apparently marks tests with clever, yet wrong answers, Niall with a girl who dumped paint on her friend's hair, and Louis with one of his coworkers that constantly has coffee breath), and Louis can feel himself coming loose in terms of being around Harry.

The night is very much upon them when Niall decides that he wants to utilize the bar they have on the first floor of the hotel.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna go get a drink downstairs right quick,” Niall announces as he pushes himself from the bed, stretching out his arms above his head.

“I’ll come with you,” Louis says instantly as he sits up, not even realizing how fast he says it until it’s already been said.

So much for the whole “coming loose” thing.

It’s just that…Louis doesn’t know how to be fully alone with Harry—earlier, it’d been bearable, because Mack was there and she could’ve served as a distraction for when things got awkward, but being alone with Harry _here_?  In this quiet hotel bedroom?  Louis’ entire body knows he isn’t ready for it, which was why he’d offered himself to join Niall so speedily.

“Alright…” Niall says hesitantly.

Harry’s gone quiet, but Louis doesn’t look at him as he makes his way out of the room behind Niall, because there’s a tiny part of him that believes he’ll see something he doesn’t want to see on the man’s face.

With one look at Niall’s drawn eyebrows and parted lips as they head out, Louis knows his friend is aware of exactly what he’s doing.  He’s grateful that he doesn’t say anything about it, however.

That is, until they’ve gotten downstairs and the man decides he can’t bite his tongue any longer.

They’re within five feet of the burlesque glass bar when Niall suddenly plants his feet, turning around to face the man.

Louis raises his eyebrows briefly, unaware of why they’ve stopped (or at least hoping he’s unaware).

“Just stop,” Niall says tiredly, shaking his head.

“Stop what?” Louis asks, pinching the fingers of his hands as he touches them together.

“Stop _this_ ,” the man replies, gesturing clumsily in Louis’ direction.  “Both of you guys are making things unnecessarily difficult.”

Louis shakes his head emphatically, still faking an innocent, oblivious composure.  “I just wanted a drink—“

“Come on.  You guys should be past this by now, _especially_ with how grown you both are,” Niall continues.  “Just…go up there.  Attempt to establish _some_ type of solidifying agreement.”

Louis’ mouth curves downward just a bit as he stares at the man, now beginning to grow jealous of the two young girls that have gotten the spots at the bar he had been headed for.

“Like—a _truce_ , or _whatever_ ,” Niall continues.  “Because I don’t even know what started this fight in the first place, but I think now is the perfect time to end it.”

“There’s no fight,” Louis replies.

“Great,” Niall says, proceeding to place his hands on Louis’ shoulders and working to turn him around.  “So go.  Be with him.  Talk to him.  Make things less weird.”

Louis puts a finger in the air, even as Niall continues to push him further away from the bar.  “You know, this would be a _lot_ easier if I had one drink—“

“ _Bye_ ,” Niall says with one final shove, efficiently pushing Louis on the outskirts of the bar area as his shoes now become settled upon the white-grayish carpet of the hotel lobby rather than the slick, black tiles he’d been standing on just seconds before.

He looks back and over his shoulder, and the man is already headed toward the bar with a bit of a skip, nodding his head at the bartender in greeting.

Louis brings his face back forward, starting on his feet in order to get back to the elevator so that he can reach the hotel room.

Niall is right for once in his life.  There’s no reason for Louis to be _scared_ of being alone in the same room as him, because he’s a _grown man_ for God's sake.  He’s had to deal with much scarier.

Still, it seems like the elevator is going two seconds faster than normal as it brings him back to the twenty-fifth floor, and this—only _this_ —is what causes him to feel just a tad anxious once he steps off.

The door to the hotel room is already partially open, so he just has to slip in as he focuses on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth—but he doesn’t get through many breathing cycles before something distracts him.

Although Louis can’t hear exactly what’s being said, it definitely sounds like yelling.

And it’s coming from Niall’s room.

Louis advances forward with reluctant steps, his eyebrows furrowing as he allows himself to come into closer proximity with the room.

“I—I _get_ it, and I’m fucking sorry,” he hears Harry mutter forcefully, and it sounds as though he’s talking on the phone.  “I was just…” the man begins, but then he lets out a defeated, heavy sigh that’s so _unlike_ him as the person Louis remembers him to be that it makes him uncomfortable.

On Louis’ slow journey to get closer to the bedroom, he makes the stupid mistake of not noticing a water bottle that’s on the ground and accidentally kicking it as he walks, causing a faint tapping sound of plastic against the floor that makes Louis freeze.

It’s obvious Harry hears it, because he brings his voice down just a hint as he continues, although it’s still relatively loud.  “It was a stupid decision.  I should’ve stayed with you,” he continues, and even from where Louis is standing he can _hear_ Harry being shouted at on the other side of the line.

He figures his presence is already known, so he doesn’t hesitate to walk all the way up to the room, letting himself in through the door that’s already cracked open.

Harry’s eyes drift toward him as it seems he’s finishing up his phone conversation, the man repeatedly saying “okay” as he sits with his back against the bed frame.

Louis takes a seat at the armchair against the wall that’s a fair distance away from the bed, because he’s already taking a leap of courage by simply _being_ here, thank you very much.  He’s not sure he wants to go the extra mile and join him on the bed.  They’re not quite there yet.

“I’ll see you later,” Harry says into the phone, his voice much quieter now as he runs a hand through his hair.  “Bye, Caleb.”

He finally hangs up, bringing his arms to set against his knees that are drawn up, and he tightens his jaw as he stares straight ahead, as though Louis isn’t in the room anymore.

Louis licks his lips briefly before he prepares to speak, figuring now is a better time than ever to make small talk.

He exhales with just a bit of a tremor before he talks.  “Your boyfriend…he seems really nice—“

“Oh, _shut up,_ ” Harry spits bitterly, Louis immediately taking in a breath once he says it.

He gapes for just a moment, Harry still not looking at him as his mood appears to have dropped drastically.  “Uh… _what?”_ Louis asks incredulously.  “I’m just trying to be polite—“

“Well _save it_ , because we all know you’re faking,” Harry snaps, shifting on the bed in order to slide himself off of it.  “And I’m done with pretending today.”

Louis sits there with his mouth open, more thrown off than he’s ever been before as he watches the man move in order to leave.  He’s never seen the man so openly brash and angry about seemingly _nothing—_ because of a fight with his boyfriend?  That’s all it takes to get him to switch up so abruptly and harshly?

“Harry.  What is _happening_ right now?” Louis asks seriously, getting up from where he’s sat.

Harry’s grabbing his sweater off of the hotel dresser it rests on top of, shaking his head as he presses his lips together.  “Just go run off and find ways not to be with me,” he replies, before looking at Louis directly for once.  “You’re doing great.”

That’s all it appears he has to say as he moves in order to finally leave, but Louis isn’t going to let him slip so effortlessly.

“I don’t understand what you’re mad about,” Louis says, following right behind him, across the main area of the suite as Harry moves to exit the hotel room entirely.

“Why are you acting like you even _care_?” Harry asks with a laugh, stopping just as he reaches the hotel room across the hall and keeping one arm pressed against the wall next to it.

“I’m not acting,” Louis replies, his tone of voice bordering on pleading as he steps next to Harry.  “I _do_ care.”

Neither of them say anything for a while, but Louis knows Harry’s thinking of something, because he hasn’t slipped the room key into the door in order to escape Louis’ presence.  His mind is moving, and Louis can see it written all over his face.

Then, Harry shakes his head, moving his hand in order to get the key into the slot.  “Well, _I_ don’t.”

Harry’s got the door pushed open when Louis speaks, his voice frail and exceedingly hushed in the already silent hallway of the twenty-fifth floor.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

Harry has a hand braced on the door handle, and he has all the reasons in the world to leave, but he doesn’t.  It’s as though Louis’ words had put a hex on him, preventing him from moving any further.

“Like, you’re acting…different,” Louis practically whispers, taking one step closer.  “You’ve changed.”

Louis can literally see him grip the door handle tighter as he keeps his head down, and he doesn’t know if it’s out of anger, or if it’s because he’s holding back from doing something, or if Louis’ simply _seeing_ things.  Whatever it is, it doesn’t stop Louis from continuing to voice the thoughts he’d been keeping in all day.

“You’re—you’re not how I remember,” Louis continues, feeling something begin to form in his throat.  “You’re not weird, and…spirited, and just _lively—_ “

“You don’t get to tell me I’ve changed,” Harry interrupts, each of his eyes now shooting knives into Louis as he stares directly at him, his gaze dark and almost empty.  “You don’t get to fucking say that.”

“Well I _am_ ,” Louis says, bringing his voice up a level as he becomes more passionate about everything he’s saying.  “You should know that I say how I feel no matter what.”

“No, I _shouldn’t_ know,” Harry replies.  “Because I don’t fucking know you.  I haven’t talked to you in years, so don’t tell me things I should know about you.”

“I’ve been this way my whole _life_ ,” Louis says, gesturing sharply at himself.  “Unlike some, I don’t change into a completely different person in just a few years.”

Harry scoffs before pushing the door open some more, shaking his head and preparing to enter his room.  “Whatever, Louis,” Harry replies sourly.

Louis can’t help the fact that he stops the door before Harry can close it behind himself, practically shoving himself into the threshold between the hallway and the hotel room with a hard nudge of his elbow against the door, which seems to even take Harry aback as he turns around and raises both eyebrows.

“And don’t you _dare_ say that it was _me_ ,” Louis hisses, his voice weakening and his eyes bearing a mild sting as he raises a stern finger at Harry and begins to feel everything rushing back to him at once.

He can feel all of it, the instant warmth mixed with uncertainty he’d felt last night at the wine tasting party, the frustration he’d felt at the diner when Harry wouldn’t look at him, and the pure fucking _rage_ he’d felt when Harry had told him he didn’t even _care_ for the internship, yet still fucking _left_.

“Don’t _ever_ say it was me who didn’t call or reach out, like this was _my_ fault,” Louis begins, knowing his eyes are beginning to well but ignoring it, because he _has_ to say this.  “Because it was _you_ , and you fucking know it.”

Everything has gone quiet, Harry’s face shifting from it’s initial bitter, hard expression and now beginning to grow blank as his eyes widen, as though he hadn’t been expecting Louis to snap.

“Don’t you _dare_ pin this on me,” Louis finishes, gesturing between them as he steps back.

Harry stares at him for a bit longer, Louis doing the exact same as he bites down on his bottom lip and tries to remember a time where he would’ve been able to tell exactly what the man was thinking just by one look into his eyes.  He can’t do that anymore.

Harry eventually shakes his head with one movement, before moving in order to shut the door, and he slams it particularly hard.  Louis can feel the vibrations at his feet.

Louis keeps his mouth open as he breathes slowly and looks down at his shoes, and he doesn’t know what he’s _doing_.

“Did it go well?” comes Niall’s voice, and Louis turns to find him seemingly emerging out of the dark shadows of the hallway.

Louis continues to bite fairly hard down on his lip as the emotion begins to build within him, and he decides he can’t do this.

He doesn’t even say anything to Niall before he just walks away, knowing that if he’s going to cry, he wants to do it in a place where he can’t be seen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... has harry changed? in the way he handles situations? in how he voices his emotions or doesn't voice his emotions? or is he the same old harry and louis is just full of it? hmmm


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love you all for reading this fic, air kisses for every single one of you

 

 

Harry’s partially awake when he feels fingers pushing at his cheeks, and he wishes he could say this was some strange occurrence for the morning, but it’s not.

“Wake _up_ ,” he hears Caleb mumble, the man sounding as though his face is within centimeters of Harry’s.

Harry keeps his eyes closed as he feels Caleb’s fingers glide down in order to softly squish his bottom lip.

Harry shakes his head as he whines faintly, moving his face in order to bury it within the blankets so he won’t be bothered with Caleb’s prying fingers anymore.

“C’mon.  It’s almost _twelve_ ,” Caleb complains.

Harry’s tired eyelids remain heavy over his eyes as he succeeds in getting half of his face hidden underneath the plush blanket, and for a second, it seems as though he’s accomplished in terms of getting Caleb to leave him be.

He already isn’t an early riser naturally, and that, _plus_ the fact that he’d gotten probably four hours of sleep at most due to staying awake exceptionally long last night, is causing him to feel tempted to snooze the rest of the day away.

He feels Caleb pat at his cheek with his palm, Harry shying away even more as he makes a choked whimpering noise.

“I know you can’t go back to sleep now,” Caleb says knowingly, Harry hearing the smug smile in his voice.

Harry’s eyes flutter open, and he’s proven correct—Caleb’s face _is_ outrageously close to his, and Harry even almost has to cross his eyes in order to look at him properly.

Caleb’s too close, the sun is uncomfortably bright where it’s coming in through the blinds, and Harry hasn’t slept long enough to function.  Can they just cancel today?

“Good morning,” Caleb says with a grin once they’ve held each other’s gaze for quite some time. 

“Morning,” Harry mumbles back, bringing up a finger in order to forcefully rub at one of his eyes.

Caleb shifts his head just a bit, getting it comfortably rested on the pillow as his eyes gleam at Harry.  “So what are we gonna do today?”

“Sleep,” Harry replies without missing a beat.

“Why are you so _groggy_?” he asks, his face twisting in displeasure.  “You went to bed at the same time as me last night.”

Harry simply blinks with an exhausted slowness, because yeah, they _had_ gone to bed at the same time, but Harry had actually gotten his body to cooperate and _sleep_ about three hours after that.  He knew it was going to be a difficult night of sleep after that ball of fire Louis had dropped on him the day before.  He really wants to congratulate the man on getting exactly what he wanted; he had succeeded in getting Harry to spend the entire night blaming every little thing on himself and feeling like a shitty human being. 

“Hey,” Caleb sort of whispers, getting his attention as Harry’s mind had begun drifting off.  “I was thinking today could just be about you and me.”

Harry feels the man reach down in order to take one of his hands, getting it between both of his palms as his smile grows an inch. 

“This lovey-dovey wedding stuff’s got me in the mood,” he says, to which Harry lightly giggles.

“So _that’s_ what it takes to turn you into a romantic?” he asks, finally beginning to grin as he stares at the man.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replies with a nod.  “And…I’m tired of it just being _Louis, Louis, Louis,_ all the time, you know?”

Harry’s breath goes still for a moment, and it takes him a few more seconds to catch on and nod his head as he feels Caleb’s thumb run across his palm.

“Today we’re spending all of our time together, okay?” Caleb says, setting his eyes direct in order to make sure Harry understands.  “The rest of them can do whatever the fuck they want with Louis.”

Harry nods along with him, pursing his lips just a bit.  “…okay,” he agrees.

Caleb appears to be pleased with his compliance as he squeezes his hand a little before shifting in order to let himself off of the bed. 

“I’m gonna shower first though,” he says, moving over towards the corner of the room to get his towel out of the suitcase.  “And _after_ that, we’ll discuss what we’re gonna do today.”

Harry nods in understanding as he brings his arms up in order to caress his pillow.

His eyes follow Caleb all the way to the bathroom where he disappears behind the pristine white door, and he lets out a sigh he felt he’d been holding for the last five minutes.

Harry gets about ten minutes of complete peace as he lays in the room alone, and he tries his hand at going back to sleep, but just as expected, he doesn’t succeed in doing so.

Harry doesn’t stir when the door to the room opens and Zayn pops in, offering Harry one of his warm, wholesome grins as Harry blinks back at him.  He looks like he definitely doesn’t have plans of staying in as he’s clad in that long sleeved red shirt Harry loves to see him in that has Japanese proverbs on it, along with _jeans,_ which is a rare occurrence in and of itself that _always_ indicates the man is heading out.

“Morning,” he practically sings, Liam coming in right behind him as he sighs and adds a “finally”.

“Not all of us took blissful naps yesterday, Liam,” Harry half-mumbles into the pillow.

“It _was_ blissful, wasn’t it?” Zayn asks, turning to look behind him where Liam has his arms crossed over his chest and his back rested against the door.

Liam nods shyly, Zayn coming up to him and snaking an arm around his waist, looking at him in such an intimate way that Harry’s convinced the man has forgotten he’s in the room.

It seems this isn’t the case when he turns back to Harry, splaying one hand over Liam’s chest as he speaks and Liam rests his head in the crook of his shoulder.  “You know there’s no greater peace than sleeping next to someone you love?”

Harry wants to roll his eyes, but he finds that he doesn’t even have the energy for _that_.

“There’s a healing nature to it,” Zayn continues, Liam blushing fiercely next to him and hiding his grins in his shoulder as he often does.  “Because he…he _breathes_ underneath me.  I can feel him breathing, existing, and it just reminds me that he’s alive and he’s mine, you know?”

“Jesus, stop this,” Liam mutters, but even from where Harry lays across the room, he can see that Liam doesn’t want him to stop anytime soon.

“Wow.  Liam, do you have anything to say to try and top how sentimental that was?” Harry asks, not holding back in showing on his face how fond he is of their relationship.

Liam’s cheeks flush even more as Zayn looks at him within close range again, and Harry can’t help but feel this _sensation_ beginning to stir in his gut.  It’s just…watching them, Harry feels both fond and just a tad bit jealous.  He knows the jealousy is uncalled for because he has a man of his own, but somehow, that’s what he feels.

“You look cute in red,” is what Liam chooses as his million dollar statement, and even though it’s nowhere near as phenomenal as Zayn’s speech, Zayn absolutely coos, burying a plethora of sweet pecks into the man’s neck.

Once they seem to get through their little mush fest of love, Zayn turns to acknowledge Harry again, letting his arm down from Liam’s waist as he makes his way over to the table by the armchair that's in every hotel room.  He proceeds to grab one of the brochures from on top of it that’s also in just about every hotel room.

“We were thinkin’ about doing indoor rock climbing today.  You up for it?” Zayn asks, Harry’s eyebrows already beginning to furrow in bewilderment.

Zayn tosses the brochure at him, the thick folded pages landing on the bed within a foot of his face.  “They have it on the brochure as one of the nearby attractions, and we thought it looked fun.”

“Yeah.  We’re going with Louis,” Liam adds from where he continues to stand near the door.

Harry sighs faintly as he flips through the brochure with a lazy hand, and the thought of indoor rock climbing actually does _something_ to reduce the tiredness in his bones.

“I can’t come,” Harry replies lowly, before correcting himself.  “I’m not coming.  Caleb and I are spending the day together.”

Zayn’s stood just short of Harry’s bed, and his eyebrows knit together in brief disappointment before it seems he quickly shrugs it off, coming up in order to grab one of the pillows and toss it upon Harry’s face.

“Suit yourself then dude,” he says, Harry hearing Liam snicker behind him as he remains with the pillow on top of his face.

Harry gets the puffy thing off of his face just as Zayn and Liam are exiting the room, and a sudden thought causes Harry to acquire Zayn’s attention before he can fully leave.

“Zayn?” Harry calls, not even knowing whether or not he actually wants the man to hear as he keeps his voice relatively quiet.

He _does_ hear, however, at the very last second as he’s getting ready to close the door behind himself.

He turns around and slowly comes back up to Harry with quirked eyebrows, Liam presumably long gone as he lets himself back into their room across the hall.

“What’s up?” he asks, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and bringing one of his knees up to rest upon the sheets.

“Do…” Harry begins, now rolled over on his back as he plays with his hands in front of his face.  He suddenly doesn’t even know if he wants to ask the question anymore—he probably shouldn’t.  “It’s stupid,” Harry continues, breathing heavily with what’s supposed to be laughter.  “But have I…like, changed?”

Zayn blinks at him for a few moments, and it takes a while for Harry to pull his eyes away from his fingers in order to look back at him.

“Like, as a person,” Harry continues, shrugging his shoulders as he lets his hands fall against his chest.  “Have I changed?”

Zayn moves around on the bed a little in order to face Harry more properly, and he brushes his hand across the material of the white blanket as he speaks tenderly.  “Harry, everyone changes,” he starts.  “It’s a part of human life.  If we stay the same we’d never progress in our lives.  Staying the same is boring.”

Harry sighs as he closes his eyes for a moment.  “I _know_ —but,” he begins, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.  “Okay…have I changed for the better, then?” he settles on, looking over at Zayn and disguising how suspenseful he is of the answer. 

Zayn’s eyes finally move from his as they concentrate on the pillow by Harry’s head, and Harry’s beginning to grow disgruntled at how long he’s taking to answer the simple question.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he says finally, pushing himself up from the bed as he grins sweetly at Harry.

Harry really should’ve known he wouldn’t give a direct, honest response.

He brings both palms up to his head once Zayn’s exited the room, because he’d already spent so much time last night thinking about the answer to this question, and here Zayn is, not helping him at _all_.

Zayn’s wrong.  He _doesn’t_ know the answer to that, because if he _did_ , he wouldn’t be _asking_. 

He guesses Zayn _is_ right about everybody changing, however, even though Harry would argue that he’s probably had the smallest amount of change among all of them over the course of the last few years.  He doesn’t know if it’s for the better or worse, despite how blatant Louis had made the answer seem when he’d spat at him about how much of a fucking monster of a person he’d become.

Sometimes Harry seriously questions what he saw in Louis.  What he was so fucking _gone_ over that he couldn’t even think straight, couldn’t accept friendship as an option, couldn’t even bear to walk away from him without getting one kiss in.  If he could’ve just controlled himself and accepted the fact that it was never going to happen, or better yet, that Louis was _this_ much of a jerk, none of this distanced, awkward, fake-nice stuff would be happening right now.

Caleb emerges from the bathroom when Harry’s in the middle of digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, and he hears the man walking alongside the bed, stopping at the edge opposite Harry.

“What’s this?” he asks, bringing Harry to remove his hands from his eyes.  He looks over to find Caleb blinking down at the brochure, the man currently holding it in his right hand as a periwinkle towel remains low on his waist.

“Oh, it’s just some info thing about city attractions,” Harry says halfheartedly as he runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.  “The others were talking about going indoor rock climbing.”

“We’re _not_ going,” he says with just a speck of aggression that causes Harry to intake a faintly sharp breath.  “We’re spending the day _alone_.  I already told you that.”

“I know,” Harry replies quietly, his tone defensive.  “We were just…talking about it.  I know,” he repeats, assuring the man and attempting to calm him before he gets too upset.

Caleb pulls his lips to the side as he stares at Harry with dimmed out eyes, before tossing the flimsy thing back on the bed, sitting down on the edge where Zayn had been and letting out a sigh as though he’s had a long day of work.

“I just—I don’t get good vibes from that Louis guy,” he says, shaking his head as he looks up at the ceiling.  “I just don’t.  And I don’t understand how you were ever friends with him.”

Harry buries a portion of his face deeper into the pillow as he shakes it halfheartedly, mumbling into the soft material.  “Me neither.”

 

~*~

 

It has been a long day, and it’s not even _five_ yet.

First, he and Caleb had enjoyed the mediocre hotel room service after Harry had finally gotten the momentum to drag himself out of bed and into the shower.  And then, they’d simply gone for a walk in a city they don’t even know, which was relatively peaceful in Harry’s opinion, because he got to observe and take into account other people’s lives around him as babies were rolled in strollers by their mothers, couples walked hand in hand just like he and Caleb were doing, and some skipped across the street with headphones stuck in their ears. 

In the midst of their tranquil walk, Caleb had realized something important that Harry hadn’t even worried about himself—they’d never even gotten a wedding present.  That _is_ something that people do, right?  Get a present for the bride and groom and bring it to the reception?

Harry’s seconds away from texting Zayn to confirm whether that’s a thing they need to do or not, but it seems it doesn’t matter, because Caleb’s getting a cab for them anyway, claiming they’re going to journey to the nearest shopping mall in order to buy something.

The shopping mall located at the center of the city is quite big and extravagant, and at first this fascinates Harry in many ways as he grips Caleb’s hand and drags him into places that have nothing to do with formal gifts whatsoever, but after a while, the place is nothing but a nuisance on his aching feet.

“I swear we’re never gonna end up settling on anything to buy because you keep getting distracted by the simplest of stores,” Caleb says, his thumb ghosting across Harry’s hand as they walk.

“It’s not so often you come across a store dedicated to styrofoam,” Harry replies with offense.

Harry’s phone vibrates as Caleb responds with something equally as teasing, and Harry resists the urge to pull it out.

Another thing that has added to the _festivities_ of today is Niall’s enthusiastic texts.

He’s been giving Harry constant updates on everything the rest of them are doing today, including when they’d first met up with Louis, how absolutely fun rock climbing was, and even attached a picture of himself smiling widely with his thumb up as he claimed they’d unexpectedly stumbled upon a cultural street festival and were having the times of their lives.

Harry only looks down at his phone briefly before stuffing it in his pocket after finding that it’s Niall in a crooked sombrero with the caption _funnnn_.

Harry’s glad he’s not there.  He’s thoroughly enjoying the quality time he’s been having with his boyfriend, and he feels that this is all he needs today.  He knows if he’d been there with them, they wouldn’t be having nearly as much fun because of the friction between him and Louis.  He hopes Louis is having fun, because he deserves that much.  He’d probably invited Harry to the wedding expecting him to actually be pleasant and cooperate, but _surprise,_ Harry’s bitter and angry, and after only two days, he’s tired of pretending like they didn’t go from being as close as two crossed fingers to being as distant as a pinky and a thumb, so it’d obviously be best for the wellbeing of both of their moods for them to stay apart.

He can’t help that the man’s words have been replaying in his head periodically throughout the day.

_Because it was you, and you fucking know it._

Damn.  Could the man have been any harsher?

Harry knows the words aren’t true. 

He also knows that he shouldn’t pin it _solely_ on Louis either, because communication goes both ways, but…it’s still Louis’ fault.  Somehow, because of the complicated circumstances at the time—it just _is_.

“Hello?” Harry hears, just as a hand waves in front of his face.

Harry blinks, darting his eyes toward Caleb as the man laughs.  “Hmm?”

“I was asking if you wanted to get some pretzels,” he says.

Harry fixes his mouth in order to reply, still processing the swift change from thinking deeply about the last five years to thinking about pretzels.  “I…yeah,” he replies, his words rolling out of his mouth with a gradual slowness.  “Sure.”

“God, you’re so ditzy,” Caleb says, before hooking their arms and leading them in the direction Harry assumes the pretzels are.

They end up outside in one of the seating areas by the mall, Harry sat right across from his boyfriend as they idly enjoy pretzels, seemingly forgetting about why they’d come here altogether.

Harry has ignored the fact that his phone has vibrated three times in the last ten minutes.

“This town’s pretty cool, don’t you think?” Caleb asks, his mouth half full as he chews on the salt-drenched pretzel he’d requested.

Harry tilts his head halfheartedly, chewing on the piece of cinnamon pretzel he’d eaten and swallowing before proceeding to speak.  “It’s alright,” he replies unenthusiastically.

“I like the energy,” Caleb says, motioning with his hands.

Harry grins sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes at the man as he speaks.  “Then date it.”

“You’re getting a little sassy there, H,” Caleb replies with a grin, gently kicking at the man’s shin as Harry smiles through a filled mouth.

There’s a comfortable silence as they eat, Harry picking at his pretzel as he looks around at the other small tables littered with the few people that wanted a refuge from the revelry of the mall, just as they did.

“You know…this is actually how we met, kinda,” Caleb suddenly says, gesturing between the both of them.

Harry focuses his eyes back in front of him, shifting his gaze around slightly as he thinks about it.

Ironically, the notion of how similar this setting is to how they met _doesn’t_ have Harry cheesing amorously the way Caleb is doing right now—instead, Harry feels slightly less eager to continue eating this pretzel because of how his insides cave just a hint.

He and Caleb met in circumstances that…weren’t the best.  Or at least in Harry’s eyes.

It was in a pretty crappy way, if Harry’s being honest, because it happened when Harry was having one of those many _moments_ he used to have where he’d completely fly off the handle and do things he normally wouldn’t do because of how…bad dealing with things got sometimes.  Harry had taken something that he definitely shouldn’t have at some nightclub when he was having one of those _moments_ , and he had slid into a seat at a small table just like this one, taking some time to collect himself once _whatever_ it was he’d taken had begun to creep up on him.  He’d already noticed Caleb eyeing him from afar throughout the night, so when the man slipped into the seat in front of him, Harry didn’t hold back in diving right into his flirtatious side-eyes and suggestive pickup lines, and he’d ended up doing some _things_ in the club bathroom that he fully remembers, but isn’t proud of.

Even though it hadn’t started off the way Harry would’ve liked, their relationship has progressed nicely into what it is now.  Harry _likes_ him.  A lot.

Harry brings his eyes over to look at Caleb as the man attempts to throw a piece of pretzel up in the air and into his mouth, missing by a great margin before attempting to do so again.

Harry likes him.  He really does.

When his phone vibrates in his pocket another time, Harry huffs before giving in and pulling it out.  The text from Niall shows a neck-down picture of someone (presumably Elizabeth) wearing an elegantly ravishing white, flouncy wedding dress, which Harry actually gawks at for a moment.  The picture is accompanied by the words _LOOK AT HER DRESS IT’S SO PRETTY,_ followed by another text sent a few seconds after that reads _i still don’t agree with marriage tho._

Harry doesn’t attempt to respond to the message, just as he’d done all throughout the day, as he simply locks his phone and stuffs it back in his pocket.  He proceeds to take a fairly big bite out of his pretzel, not even giving a thought as to how vehemently he’s chewing.

He and Caleb spend a _lot_ more time at the mall, and now it’s less because of Harry’s restless curiosity and more because of their discord about what should qualify as a wedding gift, which is strengthened by their general differences as separate people.

They instead settle on not getting anything, just choosing to decide on it later and send it to the couple then, and Harry bites his tongue on anything he has to say about how much _wasted time_ was spent frolicking through the mall.

The streets are mostly dark and a few streetlights are lit once they find themselves outside again, hand in hand as they stroll casually and are stuck on a dead end of things they could do next.

“We could, uh…” Caleb begins, before he seems to pause in order to pull his phone out of his pocket.

He brings his steps along the sidewalk to a stop as he stares down at his phone, Harry waiting patiently as he stops next to him as well.

“They’re at the bar,” Caleb says, before briefly showing his phone to Harry, the screen displaying the text from Niall that states exactly what Caleb had said: _we’re at the bar._

Harry bites the inside of his cheek as he moves in order to pull his _own_ phone out, and sure enough, there’s an unread text waiting for him that’s identical to Caleb’s.  Harry doesn’t know why it disturbs him just a hint, the fact that Niall had been sending both of them update messages, but it does. 

“I could sorta go for some drinks right now,” Caleb says, raising his brows as he looks at Harry for confirmation.

Harry puffs with only a dash of laughter, staring at Caleb incredulously.  “Seriously?” he asks.

Caleb’s face goes blank as he stares back at him, appearing confused as to why the notion is so surprising for Harry to grasp.

“This morning you almost had fire sprouting out of your ears from even the _idea_ of doing anything with them today,” Harry continues.

“I changed my mind now,” Caleb replies, his face hardening as it seems he takes offense to Harry’s statement.  “Is that okay with you?”

Harry closes his mouth, his teeth only rubbing together faintly as he brings himself to nod.  “Yeah,” he says, his volume low.  “Yeah…let’s go.”

Caleb appears to be satisfied with this as he moves in order to hook his arm around Harry’s, already starting to use his free hand to call Niall so he can get the details of where they are.

 

~*~

 

Harry’s in a bad mood by the time they arrive, and he attributes it to both having had to walk around too much today _and_ having to force himself back into Louis’ presence after having gotten used to being away from him.

Niall’s already waving at them from afar the instant they get through the entrance of the bar, and Caleb is waving back with the same energy as they make their way over.

Surprisingly, _Louis_ is the first one to speak once Harry gets himself up onto a seat of the high table the rest of them are sat at.

“ _Hi_ ,” he says eagerly, causing an instant huff of annoyance to sprout from Harry’s lips in response to the fakery.

“You guys missed a _shit_ ton of fun today,” Niall says as he clasps hands with Caleb over the table.

“Yeah, you didn’t let me forget it,” Caleb says, waving his phone pointedly in the air as he gets into the seat next to Harry.

So Harry’s sitting directly in front of Niall, diagonal from Louis as the man sits next to Niall, and Zayn and Liam are close by at the table near them.

“Fuck, Louis,” Zayn chimes in, reaching out an arm in order to grip the edge of their table.  “Remember when that kid at indoor rock climbing threw up on your sweater?”

Harrry wrinkles his nose just a bit as he turns his eyes to look at Louis, who now giggles in a sort of loose, lazy fashion as he rests his head against the table briefly.

“Yes, oh my _God_ ,” he replies, reaching for Zayn’s wrist, and yeah.  He’d gotten _some_ type of alcohol into his system before Harry’d gotten here.

“Didn’t that happen just this afternoon?” Harry asks confusedly.

“Yeah, and I had to go home and change, it was _disgusting_ ,” Louis replies, his words piling over each other as he looks down at the material of his large jean jacket, even though it’s clean, and obviously not what he had been wearing when he’d gotten barfed on.

“It was still so _fun_ though,” Liam adds, just as drinks that Caleb had ordered, that Harry hadn’t even _known_ he’d ordered, come to the small table they’re sat around.

It looks like he’d gotten a classic martini, and Harry watches just a bit closely as the man takes a sip out of it before continuing whatever he’d been talking about with Niall.

With a casual hand that he hopes isn’t noticeable enough for anyone to pay attention to, he takes Caleb’s glass and sips out of it as well, forcing it down his throat and not knowing exactly _why_ he’s doing it.  It doesn’t seem to cause any rift as Caleb simply just throws a fond grin his way before talking to Niall some more, so Harry does it again.

It’s like every time Louis giggles one of his drunken, bubbly giggles, Harry’s fingers get an itch to reach for Caleb’s drink again.  He thinks he knows the underlying reason _why_ he’s suddenly dropped his own rules, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

“I didn’t even know they had a pool table in here,” Louis says abruptly, the golden lights of the bar highlighting the unkempt messiness of his hair as he speaks.  The blues of his eyes glide over to look at the far end of the bar where there is, indeed, a pool table.

“Did you know that was there?” Louis asks, looking at Harry as he’s in the midst of sipping at Caleb’s drink through the teeny straw.

Harry’s eyes become slits for just a moment as he registers the fact that Louis is acknowledging him, and then he shakes his head, letting out a short-lived laugh.  “Not really,” he answers.  “Not until you mentioned it.”

He realizes he’s sucking up air once it appears he’s reached the end of the glass, and he turns to Caleb with a few blinks.  “Do you think you could get more of this?”

He feels the man rub at his back as he signals for the bartender with his other hand.  “More for _me_ , but not for you.”

Harry drops his mouth open as he looks disappointedly at his boyfriend.  “Why _not_?”

“You don’t drink much anyway, so it’s not a good idea to get you another one,” he replies, before adding as an afterthought.  “Wait—why are you even drinking?”

Harry wasn’t planning on actually answering him, but it seems it doesn’t matter as the bartender comes over to take more orders from Niall and Caleb, and Harry drifts his eyes back over to watch Louis as the man thoroughly studies the patterns on the marble table they’re sitting at.

It seems that Caleb is right, because after a while, Harry starts to feel the affects of only _one_ drink, although they’re very faint, and he’s still in control of his slightly fuzzy bodily movements and doesn’t find anything wrong with the warm feeling washing over him.

He’s also laughed at everything Louis has said in the last five minutes.  Every single thing, no matter whether it’s funny or not.

Louis flicks at his shoulder at some point, pursing his lips with frustration at having tried numerous times in order to get whatever it is off of him.

“I hate lint,” Louis mutters, to which Harry giggles into his hand.

Harry’s mind barely registers Caleb’s hand coming over to splay upon his knee as he browses through his phone with the other, but when he _does_ become aware of it, it doesn’t affect him one bit.  He’s pretty sure Caleb had touched him with the _intent_ for him to get some sort of message, but right now, his mind definitely isn’t processing it.  Or caring about it.

“I wanna go play pool,” Louis announces, getting down from his seat towards the end of his sentence.  “Wanna join me, Harry?” he asks, elbows leaned upon the table as he looks at the man, his eyes narrowly dilated in a way that makes them even more mesmerizing than they usually are.

“You know…since I didn’t get to spend as much time with you as I did with the others today,” Louis adds.

Harry’s nodding his head thoroughly, already preparing to exit his seat despite not knowing how to play pool.  “Sure, that sounds—“

“Actually, we have to go,” Caleb interrupts harshly, his hand quickly grabbing for Harry’s wrist and halting him from moving any further.

Harry blinks with bewilderment as he slowly settles back into his seat.  “We have to go?” he asks the man.

“Yeah.  Now,” he says, getting down from his seat as he maintains a hold of Harry’s wrist.

Harry’s prepared to vehemently protest against leaving as he opens his mouth.  “But—“

“ _C’mon_ ,” Caleb hisses, and his hand that’s gripping Harry’s wrist tightens significantly, bringing Harry to completely shut his mouth as he allows himself to be led out of his seat.

There’s only a small twinge of pain felt in his arm as he gets guided out by Caleb, but it’s hard to focus on it when he’s still looking over his shoulder at where Louis stands next to the table, the man’s inquisitive eyes following them the whole way out.

“Caleb,” Harry tries once he finds himself outside of the bar after having been successfully dragged out.

The man doesn’t hear him, or he just doesn’t _react_ to him as he continues stalking down the sidewalk with his hand practically cemented around Harry’s wrist.

They turn the corner of the building of the bar they’d just been in, Harry only stumbling over his feet a tad bit as he gets pulled along, and he’s just a second away from opening his mouth in order to get the man’s attention again before Caleb abruptly stops.

The jarring sensation that comes with Caleb forcefully pressing his lips against his own is felt before Harry feels his back hit the brick wall of the bar, and Harry’s scarcely hazed mind complies with the kiss as he feels the man’s hand come up to smooth past his waist and settle upon his back, the other gripping the side of his jaw.

Although it takes some time, Harry comes to his senses and nudges him away, moving his head to the side in order to prevent their lips from attaching again.

“What?” Caleb asks quietly, gripping Harry’s sleeve as he focuses on the man with eyes that are both pleading and impatient.  “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Harry begins, his mind slow as he shakes his head.  He pushes Caleb away again in order to get a complete removal of contact between them, and Caleb finally steps back, looking at Harry as though he’s lost his mind.

“I didn’t want to leave,” Harry says, now looking at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I said I _didn’t want to leave_ ,” Harry repeats, his volume raising, which he only knows because of a group that exits a cab nearby, their glances cautiously flitting in his direction as they make their way past.

“Harry, we’ve been out all day and I’m tired,” Caleb complains, raising his voice to meet Harry’s  “What more do you _want_ out of tonight?”

“I want you to _listen_ to me!  And take into consideration what _I_ want to do!” Harry exclaims, feeling emotion beginning to build in his throat as he sniffs.  He can hear his words blending _just_ a hint, but he’s still fully aware of everything he’s doing and saying, and _Jesus_ , it feels good to get this out.

“God, why are you being so _dramatic_?” Caleb asks.  “It’s probably for the best that you don’t drink after all.”

“I’m not drunk,” Harry replies, crossing his arms as he shakes his head.

“You fucking _are_ , and if you don’t stop whining and come back to the hotel with me right this _second_ —“

“Everything okay?”

Harry’s eyes move quickly toward the sound of Louis’ voice, and he finds that the man is just a few feet to their right, approaching them slowly as it appears he’s now taken off his jean jacket, even though he’s hardly seen in the nighttime darkness and faraway street lights.

Caleb stares at him for a moment as well, and Louis just continues to grin politely as he stands there, looking between them.

Then Caleb sucks his teeth, waving his hand off at Harry as he begins to walk away.  “Meet me back at the hotel when you’re done being such a tight ass.”

Harry brings a hand up in order to rub at his eyes as he senses a fatiguing strain come over his entire body.

“You okay?” he hears Louis ask, the man’s voice much gentler as it seems he’s a bit closer.

Harry removes his hand, shaking his head some more as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.  “As though _you_ care.”

“I’m out here, aren’t I?” Louis asks, his voice somehow even gentler, soothing in Harry’s ears and providing him an instant glimpse into the old times, when he would listen to the silky sound of Louis’ delicate words until they fell asleep.

The man takes another step forward, but Harry just continues to shake his head as he even begins to chuckle painfully.  He attempts to back into the wall some more, but he doesn’t succeed in getting any further from Louis as the man approaches.

“Look at me,” Louis just about whispers, the sound of it pumping Harry’s heart a smidge faster.

Harry doesn’t want to, and he knows he has no reason to listen to anything Louis tells him to do, especially after all the man has put him through.

But eventually he does look at him, his head swinging around to a slow stop as he comes eye to eye with the man, who’s now substantially closer than before.  He can feel the immediate comfort coming about him as they gaze at each other, and just like that, he’s beginning to disregard the argument he’d been having with his boyfriend mere minutes before.

“You let him touch you like that?” Louis asks, continuing his pattern of gentle speaking.

Harry swallows as they continue to lock eyes, and even though he hasn’t shed one tear, he feels as though he’s been crying for hours as his head whirls and his eyes sting with emotion.

“The Harry _I_ know doesn’t deserve that,” Louis whispers, one of his hands coming up and causing Harry to breathe with more caution. 

Harry feels the faint brush of the man’s delicate fingers against his wrist where Caleb’s hand once laid, and it’s such a harsh _contrast_ that Harry’s biting down on his lip and turning his head away, just like he’d done before.

Louis continues to touch him, however, simply stroking his skin as though treating a wounded animal, and he’s close enough for Harry to feel his breaths against his lips. 

He hasn’t been this close to him since _that_ night.

“Why are you doing this?” Harry breathes, feeling Louis’ fingertips brush up his arm and stroke up under his sleeve.

Louis’ head comes forward until it’s ghosted against Harry’s, his eyes gracefully dropping down to his lips as he ignores Harry’s words.

Once Harry feels the man’s nose brushing over his cheek, he can literally _sense_ how quickly he’s melting under his fingertips, his own hand even coming up to caress the side of the man’s neck.

“You know you’re my weakness,” Harry breathes, his eyes focused as he keeps them on Louis’ eyes and Louis keeps his on Harry’s lips.  “You’ve always known it, yet you acted like you didn’t.”

Louis seems like he’s not worried about saying any actual words as their foreheads remain connected, his hand softly gripping the bare skin of Harry’s arm as their lips ghost over one another, and Harry knows without a doubt in his mind that he’s going to do something he shouldn’t.

Harry’s breaths are even quieter when he speaks, his words barely heard over the gust of the night.

“Fuck you,” he says, right before closing the space between them without another thought.

Louis gives into it, mostly because he’d initiated it by stepping so close to him in the first place.  Harry’s mind is flying rapidly—traveling in _time_ it seems, and as he closes his eyes, he’s _certain_ he’s right back outside of his old apartment, stood near the railing of the stairs.

Except _this_ time, it’s in a perfect world where Louis is endlessly compliant, holding onto Harry with as much enthusiasm as Harry’s holding onto him, pressing his mouth into Harry’s without a trace of resistance.

Harry weaves his fingers through the man’s soft hair with both hands, just the way he’d always imagined he’d do it if he ever got the chance again.

Louis’ being so _docile_ , breathing almost pleadingly into Harry’s mouth every time their lips come apart for half seconds, allowing Harry to hold his face and tilt it the way he wants, and bringing his body closer to Harry’s in order to press the both of them into the wall.  He even begins to feel the man’s _tongue_ slide against his bottom lip and—

 _No._ This is— _no._   Harry can’t do this.

Harry pulls back, pushing Louis away with both hands to his shoulders, although using much more delicacy than he had with Caleb earlier. 

He shakes his head, side-stepping the man as he rubs his sleeve over his eyes.  “No,” he simply says, looking back at the man to find Louis standing there, slightly dazed and taken aback as his hair appears to be disarranged in a way that has pure, hot desire _surging_ through Harry’s body.

He turns around swiftly, knowing that he’ll give into that desire if he stays even a second longer.  “No,” is all he says as he walks back down the sidewalk, intent to rejoin the rest of them in the bar out of fear of being alone with Louis if he tries to journey back to the hotel alone.

When he enters back into the bar, the rest of them are in that far end and seem to be deeply invested in a game of pool.

Zayn’s eyes are the first to fall upon him as he enters, and he immediately pauses his action of aiming with the cue stick as he stands up straight.

Harry attempts to slip back into casual mode, despite the fact that all three of them are looking at him as if something’s off (which makes sense, because Louis is still outside).

“You guys are playing pool?” Harry asks, unaware of how disoriented and mildly cracked he sounds.  “Awesome.”

There’s a hanging quietness for a moment as he comes to stand near the table, his eyes set upon the surface littered with balls as he swallows gently.

Zayn breaks the silence, of course, attempting to get everything back comfortable as he speaks. “Yeah, I was just getting ready to smoke Niall.”

Harry seems to have successfully blended himself back in as they continue their pool game, Niall ribbing at Zayn right back and all of them being attentive in terms of the activity they have going on, but the casual, effortless fun only lasts for as long as it takes for Louis to eventually rejoin them.

He walks across the bar just as slowly as Harry had, and Harry’s not afraid to admit he lets out a subtle sigh of relief at the fact that it looks as though he’d put forth _some_ effort in order to make his hair look less “ran through”.

Instead of joining them all the way at the _pool table_ though, despite the fact that all of their eyes are silently following him, he sits at the table they’d been at earlier, sliding up into the seat that still has his denim jacket hanging off the back of it.  He simply sits and doesn’t say anything. 

Leave it up to _him_ to not want to take the easy route and weave himself back into the dynamic.

The rest of them eventually shrug it off as they refocus on their game, and they only go for about fifteen more minutes before they decide they’ve had enough and are ready to head home.  Harry wishes there were a way to acknowledge how eternally grateful he is for them not bringing up anything about his boyfriend—he wants to thank them without bringing it up _himself_.

Zayn’s the one that goes over and grabs Louis, bringing him in with an arm around his shoulder as they prepare to leave.

Louis’ got his oversized jacket back on as they move towards the exit, and it seems everything is still casual for the most part—

Until, just upon exiting out into the open night, he feels a gentle tug at the hem of his shirt.

“I’m going this way,” Louis announces once Harry turns to look at him.  “Bye,” he tells the rest of them as he begins to back away, the men blinking with lost eyes at the retreating boy.

Harry scratches his nose as he furrows his eyebrows down at his shoes, knowing there’s a choice he has to make.  It doesn’t take him long to decide on the choice, because Louis isn’t sober, and differences aside, he definitely shouldn’t let him walk home alone.  That is the _only_ reason he chooses him.

“Yeah, I’m gonna, uh…” Harry begins, keeping his head down so he won’t see their loud reactions to his words.  “I’m gonna walk Louis home.  See you guys back at the hotel later,” he says, pointing over his shoulder as he already begins to move in that direction.

He doesn’t wait around for any of them to say anything and instead turns, headed toward the man who’s already pretty far away as he skips down the sidewalk.

Harry catches up to him with power walking feet, and once he’s next to the man, Louis grins shyly at him out of the corner of his eye before nudging his arm against his.

Harry huffs once out of a sudden nervousness as the corner of his lip quirks up as well, not knowing what to say.  He doesn’t know if he should be mad, or happy, or pulling his hair out, because he and Louis had just _kissed_ —Louis had practically kissed _him_ , and wasn’t this the very thing that ended whatever friendship they had years ago?

Harry’s heart is beating loudly as they walk, the man implicitly letting Louis lead the way because of the fact that he has no idea where they are. They begin to traverse upon a quieter area, with less cars, less streetlights, and the occasional light sound of a cricket.

“Ugh,” Louis mutters quietly, looking down at his feet.  “So much walking.”

“Did you not bring your car?” Harry asks, equally as quiet.

“No.  Me and the boys have been walking around all day,” Louis replies.

Harry can’t help it when he says it, even though he knows the situation doesn’t call for it.  “The boys and I.”

It takes a moment for Louis to understand his words, and he looks up at Harry with a raised eyebrow of confusion.  “Hmm?”

“It’s _the boys and I_ ,” Harry repeats, the tiny grin that’d already been on his lips beginning to grow.  “C’mon Louis, that’s basic grammar.”

The sound of Louis delicately bursting into laughter as he gently punches Harry’s arm has Harry’s grin nearly splitting his face in half, and he’s so clouded by how warm he feels that he doesn’t even react to Louis subtly pulling him in order to sit down on a nearby bench by a bus stop.

“I stand corrected, Mr. Styles,” Louis says as he rests his back against the seat, Harry sitting forward with his elbows upon his knees.

Harry shakes his head faintly, blowing air out of his cheeks as he focuses his eyes below himself.  “I don’t make them call me that.  It’s weird to me, for some reason,” he replies.

“You know, I’m not surprised by that,” Louis says, sitting up on the bench as he slides just a tad closer to Harry.  “Guess there _are_ parts of you that haven’t changed, huh?”

Harry scoffs, although his voice doesn’t have as much animosity in it as he’d imagined it would whenever this topic was brought up again.  “Stop acting like I’ve completely transformed into some stranger,” Harry replies with a sigh, bringing his eyes to the man and becoming just a bit thrown by how close he is.  “Just because I’m not skating around, and I’m not saying stupid shit.  I don’t see _you_ on your skateboard.”

Louis makes a _pfft_ sound with his mouth as he rests his elbows on his knees, and there’s the faraway sound of car tires screeching against the road as silence encircles them for a moment.

“ _That_ old thing,” Louis mumbles.  “I gave it away a _while_ ago.  I can’t even believe you brought it up, actually.”

Harry laughs, nudging his face against Louis’ cheek pointedly as he speaks.  “See?  I’m not the only _changed_ one.”

Louis’ eyebrows are drawn together as it seems a thought protrudes his mind.  “I don’t even think I still know how to ride it.”

“That’s where we’re different,” Harry replies, Louis looking up at him.  “I still know how to roller skate.  It’s ingrained into my body, knowing how to do it.”

“Things like that aren’t _ingrained_ in you,” Louis argues, as though Harry’s ridiculous.  “That’s a _learned_ behavior.”

“Don’t think you should try to argue logic with a teacher,” Harry replies with a cheeky, joking grin, bringing Louis to shove his arm playfully once again, and right now all Harry can think about is how he hopes alcohol isn’t taking the credit for all that’s happening right now.  He knows it’s not the case for _himself_ , but he doesn’t know about Louis.

“What about your lucky pen?” Louis asks.  “Have you still got it?”

Harry’s eyes blink up at the glowing moon for a moment, and he shakes his head with a sigh.  “Lost it,” he replies with a shrug.  He then looks down at himself as he thinks on that statement, Louis silently watching the side of his face as he remains undoubtedly close.  “That might explain a lot of things, actually,” Harry breathes in such a soft way that he knows Louis can’t hear him, which is why he understands when the man makes a questioning sound.

“Nothing,” Harry says, his reply accompanied by a sad chuckle.  He diverts the attention by turning to Louis, the man not moving back even an inch as his elbow rests on his knee and his face stays within a hair of Harry’s.  “I haven’t seen you pull out a cigarette since I’ve been here.”

Louis has his fingers brushing against his lips as he remains leaned forward, and his lips curve positively as he shakes his head at Harry, their eyes closely locked.  “I quit,” he says softly.  “I was starting to depend on it too much, and then Mack was born and they were visiting a lot—and I thought about what you said.  About asthma and secondhand smoke?”

“Shut up,” Harry mutters with a laugh, turning away from Louis as he sucks his teeth.  “You did _not_ think about _anything_ I said, especially something specific like that.”

 _Harry,_ of course, remembers it perfectly, because it’s been a recurring event for his mind to replay the prominent moments he had with Louis when it was slowly coming together, the fact that he had a crush on him and wanted _more_ out of this.  With Louis, there’s no reason for him to remember things so vividly because he doesn’t feel the same way, so Harry would appreciate if the lying and giggling and acting like he’s so _interested_ would stop now.

“I thought about _everything_ you said,” Louis replies, his voice going softer.

Harry doesn’t say anything as he continues to somewhat shake his head, almost in denial as he keeps his eyes focused on the dark outlines of trees across the street.  He doesn’t even pay a reaction to the feeling of Louis’ tender breaths skimming the surface of his cheek.

Louis’ voice is the softest it could possibly be when he speaks again.  “I thought about you a lot.”

Harry _knows_ it’s the alcohol talking right now.  He’d _never_ say this while he was sober, and Harry just has to keep reminding himself that, even as his fingers begin to curl where they’re sat on his lap.

He still can’t help that something unidentifiable, yet heartwarming comes over his entire being as he breathes a little sharper because  _fuck_.  Those words mean so fucking much and they’re pretty much all Harry wanted to hear while he was living so far away, trying to figure out why his friend wouldn’t call him, why _he_ wouldn’t call his friend, whether there would ever be a time where they would sit like _this_ again.

He hears Louis shift on the bench with gradual, practiced movements, and he allows himself to be drawn in when the man’s arms come up to wrap around the back of his neck.  It’s almost as though it’s just a part of his natural reflexes—he brings his arms to reach around Louis’ waist, and he already feels a trickle of the years of pent up emotion ready to come out of him as he nuzzles his nose comfortably against his shoulder.

They hug each other increasingly tighter with every passing second, and _yes,_ a tear or two escapes Harry’s eyes as he brushes his hand up his back and grips onto the material of his jacket as though the man’s going to fall if he lets go.  He can’t describe how heavy it is, feeling Louis’ warm fingers stroking against the back of his neck, the man’s head buried in the crook of his neck, the man simply _pressed_ into him like this when Harry’d literally spent _hundreds_ of nights tossing and turning about how this was never going to happen again.

It’s a real hug.  Not that phony shit they’d done yesterday that had Harry rethinking his entire existence, as well as why he ever liked the man.

 _This_.  This feeling of instant comfort, and familiarity, and just finding _home_ in someone’s arms is why he liked him. 

Or likes him.

Harry doesn’t get to ponder the sudden conflicting thought, because Louis pulls his head up from Harry’s shoulder, brings a hand up to Harry’s cheek, and gently moves his face in order for their lips to meet.

All of Harry’s restraints concerning giving into Louis while he’s tipsy go straight out the window as he falls into the kiss, already sliding his hand over Louis’ shoulder in order to brush the hairs at the nape of his neck.

The kiss is quite hot and heavy, both of their heads tilting with enthusiasm as Harry begins to feel the man’s fingers stroking the chest of his shirt, subtly moving inside in order to set fire to his bare skin as he touches him.

Harry never knew he needed to taste someone so much before until he gets one taste of Louis and immediately needs another.  The weak, begging noise Louis lets out as their tongues glide against one another has Harry ready to risk it all, and he doesn’t resist one bit when Louis is tugging on his shirt, reclining against the bench as their heavy breaths and wet pecks echo through the serene streets of the night.

Harry finds himself on top of Louis, the man deepening the kiss by burying his hands in Harry’s hair and just bringing him _in_ , and Harry keeps his hands braced on the armrest of the bench that Louis’ head is rested against, his lips becoming impatient and placing deep kisses against the corner of Louis’ mouth and towards his jaw.

The feeling of Louis bringing up one of his legs to trap Harry’s thigh in, and the _heat_ that rushes through Harry’s body instantly in response to that, is what causes Harry to pull his lips away, his eyes remaining closed as he shakes his head.

Louis leans up just a hint, and their lips brush together faintly, but it’s nowhere near a kiss as Harry inches away.

“What?” Louis breathes, his fingers caressing one of Harry’s cheeks.

Harry’s eyebrows are furrowed as he just shakes his head, and he knows that if he opens his eyes and looks down at a lusty, complaisant, sparkly-eyed Louis, he’s going to give in.

“You’re under the influence,” Harry mutters.

“So are _you_ ,” Louis replies, Harry feeling the man attempt to tug him back down with both hands to his shoulders.

“Yeah, but I’m not—I’m,“ Harry begins, stuttering as he feels Louis shift his hips upward _very_ slightly.  “I’m well enough to know what I’m doing right now, and…”  He lets his eyes drift open, and sure enough, there Louis is below him, his eyes wondrous as though he’s star gazing and his lids heavy.

Harry reaches out a hand, gently gripping his fingers up under Louis’ chin and upon the bottom of his cheeks, taking notice of how easily the man lets Harry tilt his chin upward.  He’s just letting Harry have him any way he wants and Harry would be a fucking idiot not to know why.

He’s not drunk enough to let this happen with a demoralized mind—he’s now certain that’s why he drank earlier, because deep down, he knew the possibility of _something_ happening between them tonight would be higher if they were both looser, but he’s pretty sure even fifty more shots wouldn’t get him to do this.

Harry laughs for half a second, letting go of Louis’ face once the man begins moving his lips in the direction of his palm.  “I’ve always dreamed of this too…wanted it so bad,” he whispers sadly, before preparing to retreat from the man.  “But I can’t do this.”

He makes the decision for himself, disentangling his limbs from Louis’ as he sits back up, knowing this is probably the hardest decision he’s ever made in his life.

“I _won’t_ do this,” he adds.

He stands up from the bench, hoping Louis will just get on board with him and forget this even happened, no matter how blaringly loud it will be for the rest of the night.

“Wow, you must really love your boyfriend,” Louis says, sitting up slowly as he keeps those same dark, fervent eyes on Harry that he knows by now are making him melt.

Harry bring his eyes back forward, intent to not let Louis get to him.  He knows that’s what the man wants.  “Can I just walk you home?” he says with slight frustration.

He hears Louis get up, and he lets out a sigh once the man finally comes up next to him, because even just _standing_ near him right now is too much for Harry. 

“I’ve tried to like Caleb, I really have,” Louis says once they’ve started walking again.  “But I don’t see a single good quality in him.  Not one.”

“You don’t know him,” Harry replies.

“Yeah, but I know that he yells at you,” Louis says.  “And that alone is enough to make me despise him forever.”

Harry presses his lips together as he looks up at the moon again, as though asking the heavens to save him in anyway they can right now, since he’s literally spiraling down a pit of all the mistakes he’s made in _just_ the last hour.  He needs guidance in order to get through the rest of the night safely, and _without_ cheating on his fucking boyfriend some more.

He makes a point not to say anything to Louis as they continue walking, even though the man occasionally tries to spark up conversation.  It seems he gives up once they’re within a few blocks of his building, so Harry deems this night a partial success.

Once they reach the front door, Louis struggles with the key to open it for so long that eventually, Elizabeth just comes up to the door and opens it.

“I almost had it,” Louis whines once his eyes are met with hers, and she twists her face in confusion.

“He had a bit to drink,” Harry explains, to which she nods her head with understanding.

“Stop acting like I’m so _drunk_ ,” Louis complains, although it’s more like he’s yelling into the open air as he enters his home and Harry stays outside of the front door with absolutely no plans of coming in.

Elizabeth’s expression is one of sincerity and thankfulness as she keeps one hand braced on the door and smiles at Harry.  “Thanks for bringing him home,” she says nicely.  “I know he had a wild day.”

“Welcome,” Harry replies, equally as nice.  “And yeah.  He definitely did.”   He’s already backing away from the front door towards the end of his sentence, saluting at Elizabeth with one hand as he nods.  “Have a good night.”

She wishes him the same as she moves in order to close the door, and Harry finds himself on the first floor of a foreign building, alone and ambivalent.

He makes the mistake of getting out his phone as he leans against the wall, just because he knows it’s been a while since he’s checked it and he’s just now becoming aware of that.

The _mistake_ is in reading the first text he sees once he turns it on.

 **Caleb:** _you’ve obviously made your choice. don’t even think about coming back_

Harry sighs deeply as he runs his fingers through his hair, because he doesn’t have time for this.  He’s run out of patience for today, and he doesn’t have the energy in him to put in _effort_ for another one of their stupid arguments that they have at least twice a week.  He already knows how it goes—he gets an eruptive text like this, proceeds to call him and try to make it better, gets yelled at and told about how dumb whatever he did is, and one of them (usually Harry) apologizes, and then everything’s back to normal.

Except Harry’s fucking tired and he doesn’t have time for that shit right now, so he turns on his heel, stepping right back up to the door he’d just walked away from and knocking on it.

When Elizabeth swings the door open again, she looks mildly puzzled.

“Do you know if I could stay here for tonight?” he asks, forcing a grin onto his lips.  “I’m having…relationship issues.”

Elizabeth nods her head as her eyes grow just a bit bigger with curiosity.  “Sure—I mean, this _is_ Louis’ place, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” she says, gesturing behind herself at where the man lays on the ground, smack in the middle of the hallway, muttering something about pancakes.

“Awesome,” Harry replies, letting himself in.

He makes a point of not acknowledging Louis’ presence as the man walks around aimlessly and laughs at his own jokes, and instead gets lightly acquainted with Elizabeth as he stays with her in the kitchen and she talks about how hard it was to get Mack in bed.  He refuses any offers of food, although she gives him numerous, because he knows it’s already an imposition, him simply being here.  She probably knows how distant he and Louis are as friends and doesn’t feel too good about his company.

The night is deep when Louis has been in his bedroom for a while and Elizabeth has bid him a  goodnight, giving him a blanket and letting him know he could just crash on the living room couch before striding off to wherever it is her and Mack sleep.

Sure enough, Harry’s left with the living room to himself, everything overbearingly silent as only one of the lamps on the table by the sofa remains lit.

Because of the pin drop quietness and his protruding thoughts that had persisted for about half an hour since he’d been left alone, he made the stupid decision of calling Caleb.

He felt he at least owed him that much, considering the things he’d done tonight.

But he also knows he shouldn’t feel _that_ bad, because it’s not like Caleb is a saint.  There have been _several_ instances back home where Harry has wondered where the man was at night and Caleb has refused to tell him because it’s “none of your business”, and Harry’s sure this minor slip-up with Louis tonight doesn’t even compare.  He’s allowed to mess up once if Caleb is allowed to mess up as many times as he has.

He definitely doesn’t let Caleb know about his shenanigans with Louis once they’re on the phone, however, but it seems Caleb already has other things to be mad about anyway.

Harry’s sat on the floor at the edge of the living room, his back pressed against the wall as he tries to confidently get his words out while keeping his voice as hushed as possible.

This may be a special argument, because Caleb doesn’t seem like he’s forgiving Harry anytime soon.

“Because I just _wanted_ to,” Harry says forcefully, after being asked for the hundredth time why he wanted to stay at the bar.  “Am I allowed to just _want_ things without having a reason?”

He huffs and intentionally hits his head back against the wall, almost enjoying the pain it brings as Caleb continues to shout at him about how he _does_ need a reason for all of the stupid decisions he makes.

The argument grows for several minutes, and eventually it becomes explosive with Harry biting back tears and Caleb spitting things at him that even his _mother_ wouldn’t say, and it ends in Harry tipping over the edge and throwing his phone, the sound of it hitting the graphite coffee table echoing quite loudly through the living room.

Harry brings his knees up and sets his elbows on them, running his hands down his face and feeling as though he’s seconds away from crying as he profusely sniffs.

“Everything alright?” he hears.

For a moment, he thinks about keeping his hands splayed over his face and not acknowledging the words, but it’s _Elizabeth,_ and he can’t be so cruel right now.  Not with her sounding so quiet and concerned.

Harry removes his hands, sniffling as he shakes his head slowly.  “No.”

She taps her hands against the couch where she stands behind it, Harry biting his bottom lip with a desire to contain a painful sob.

“C’mon.  I’ll make us both tea,” she says gently, tilting her head in order to get him to follow her to the kitchen as she backs away.

Harry wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand once she’s walked away, and it takes him a few moments of heavy pondering before he pushes himself up to his feet, following behind her.

Just as promised, they eventually end up sat across from one another at the rather fancy kitchen table, and they’ve been making relatively small talk for a while as she’d prepared the tea.  Now they both sip at their mugs and continue to talk about trivial things.

That is, until she drops the bomb of deep conversation.

“So tell me the parts Louis hasn’t told me,” she says casually, before bringing her mug up to her lips.

Harry’s eyes are wide as he stares at her, his mug in mid-air as he grips at the handle.  “Huh?”

“You know what I mean,” she says, her lips forming a crooked grin as she cocks her head at him.  “About you and Louis.  Your friendship.  How close you were.”

Harry feels something coming about in his gut in response to finding out Louis told her about that stuff, but he can’t describe it as particularly _bad_.

“The _kiss_ ,” she adds, as though trying to slip it in.

She fails in doing it sneakily, because Harry sputters just a bit as he nearly chokes on his tea, and he puts his mug all the way down.

“He…he told you?” Harry asks quietly.

Elizabeth nods as she takes a moment to swallow.  “Almost immediately,” she replies. 

Harry senses the feeling manifesting in his gut once again, and this time, he genuinely doesn’t know if it’s good or bad.  He figures he’ll just have to wait for her to keep talking.

“What—“ Harry starts, scratching behind his ear and slightly fearing for the answer.  “What did he say?”

“I don’t remember specifics, but he was freaking out about it,” she says.  “Like, going to _pieces_ about it.  I had to get him to calm down on the phone as he was walking back to his place.”

Harry’s mouth is partially dropped, and he feels frail.  It even shows in his raw voice when he speaks.  “He called you _that_ soon?” he asks, and yep.  The gut feeling is definitely a bad one.

“Yeah,” she replies.  “He was livid.”

Harry lets out a heavy breath of defeat, before bringing his palm up and smacking it against his forehead, because he _knew_.  He fucking _knew_ he shouldn’t have done that. 

So these past five years _were_ all his fault, just like he’d predicted.

“I knew I shouldn’t have done that,” Harry mumbles weakly, his palm still heavy on his forehead as he mentally begins to kick at himself.  “It was so fucking _stupid_ of me, _God._   I ruined _everything_.”

“Hey,” Elizabeth suddenly says, cutting right into his episode of beating himself up.

Harry brings his eyes up to her with much difficulty, swallowing the lump in his throat and trying with every bone in his body not to break down at the fact that he’d singlehandedly ruined everything between him and Louis because he couldn’t fucking _control_ himself and accept the fact that _hey, he doesn’t fucking like you._

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Elizabeth says, stretching her hand upon the table as though she’s trying to reach him, even though she’s not close enough to touch him.  “He wasn’t mad about you kissing him.”

Harry’s thoughts go quiet for once as he blinks at her, suddenly eager for every single word that will ever come out of her mouth from this moment on.

“He was mad about you leaving,” she finishes.

Harry lowers his hand from his face, not knowing what to feel in response to that.  His initial reaction is just to not believe it, because there’s no way that’s true.  Louis had spent _weeks_ letting Harry know he was proud of him, that he was happy about him leaving, and—this doesn’t make _sense_.

“So when he called you, it wasn’t in an _I wanna turn around and punch him in the face, how dare he kiss me_ sort of way?” Harry asks.

Elizabeth immediately shakes her head, giggling lightly as though the notion is preposterous.  “No, it was actually the exact opposite,” she replies.  “I told you I don’t remember specifics, but I definitely remember him saying something along the lines of _I think I’m in love with him_.”

Harry’s breath goes completely silent for a moment, and he’s becoming more and more certain with every passing second that he’s dreaming.  This can’t be real.  No _way_ has he spent years punching himself over ruining their friendship by kissing Louis, only to find out that the boy had been feeling the same way as him.  No _way_.

“He was scared, Harry,” Elizabeth continues, her voice hushed and quiet as she stirs her tea with a lazy hand.  “You should’ve heard him.”

Harry shakes his head as he feels his eyes beginning to literally prick with tears.  “Well, whether that’s true or not, it doesn’t matter anymore,” Harry replies, his voice breaking as he attempts a laugh.  “I—I have a boyfriend now, and I’m happy—“

“Louis told me you guys kissed tonight.”

Harry gapes incredulously, trying to figure out when he could’ve even had the _time_ to do such a thing.  “ _When_?”

“In the five minutes between you leaving and coming back,” she replies, seeming slightly amused as she takes a nonchalant sip out of her mug.

“Is there anything he _doesn’t_ tell you?” Harry asks with disbelief.

She shakes her head with a prideful grin.  “Nope,” she replies.  “Because he knows I’ll never judge him.”

Harry places his fingers over his mouth as he keeps his elbow rested on the table, and he genuinely doesn’t know what to say. Mostly because he’s in a state of disbelief and his mind still refuses to accept even the possibility that Louis has had feelings for him all this time—or was fucking _in love_ with him.

“So…”  Harry begins, cutting into the growing silence of the kitchen as he moves his eyes to study the basket of fruits at the center of the table.  “Louis.  Is he into…like, has he always been, just—“

“I don’t know if he’s gay,” Elizabeth replies, saving Harry in his moment of rambling and not knowing how to choose words.

“And that’s probably one of the few things he’ll never talk to me about,” she continues with a sigh as she rests her head on her fist tiredly.

“I wish he’d talk to _me_ about it,” Harry says quietly, sadly.  “I’ll listen to him.  I love listening to him.”

Elizabeth’s lips curve upward on both sides as she seems to be admiring Harry, and Harry bites back a grin as he focuses his eyes on his lap. 

“I don’t think even _you_ could’ve helped, though,” she says.  “He’s always felt he’s had to assume this tough, masculine role growing up—mostly because of our dad and how he pretty much drilled it into him.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath as he listens, already beginning to tremble with a desire to go find Louis and just _hug_ him.  Hug the daylights out of him and attempt to put together all the fallen puzzle pieces that have come apart over the last five years.

“I’m not saying for _sure_ that that’s the case though,” Elizabeth says, putting a hand up as it seems she’s sensing how fast Harry’s mind is flying.  “But it’s very likely.  We never really get much pressure from our mum, because she’s always done her best to let us know she’d love us through whatever.  With our father, however, it’s more of a tough love.”

Harry has to fight not to frown as he thinks about it, Elizabeth bringing her mug up to her mouth and taking a gulp as the kitchen sink faucet drips only once.

“Here’s a brief story that’ll probably give you perspective,” Elizabeth says once she’s through swallowing.  “Once when we were little— _really_ little—I think I was seven and Louis was eight, I remember it pretty vividly.”  Her eyes are just a little spaced out as she focuses on the surface of the table and goes back to that very moment.  “Me and Louis had been just outside, you know, playing around in the grass, taking turns on my bike, while mum was inside cooking I think, and dad was—he was doing something related to work, I don’t know.  Louis had ended up plucking those little puffy dandelions out of the ground because he thought they were pretty,” she continues, laughing with contained delight as she thinks about it.  “And when we came back in, he showed them to my mother and she indulged in him so much, she even gave him a big hug and told him about how talented he was at finding the best flowers.

“Our dad didn’t react that way, though,” she continues, messing with her chin a bit as her eyes narrow.  “But he didn’t react _wildly_ or anything.  He just…kinda made it clear that he didn’t like the thought of Louis picking flowers, and he made him throw them in the trash.”

Harry’s lips are parted in pure denial, because he doesn’t even want to imagine such a thing.  His mind immediately displays a blurry image of Louis as an impressionable, doe-eyed kid, and then he envisions him, small and innocent, excitedly picking out dandelions and thinking about how much his parents will love them and— _no_.

“That _is_ reacting wildly,” Harry says, furrowing his eyebrows.  “Do you not understand how emotionally stunting that is for a _child_?”

Elizabeth is shaking her head as she’s getting up from her seat, preparing to take her empty mug to the sink.  “No, it’s not like that,” she says, rinsing it out as she speaks over her shoulder.  “That’s just how we were raised, you know?”

Harry _doesn’t_ know.  What’s throwing him the most right now is how indifferent they both are about it.  Elizabeth doesn’t seem to understand what’s wrong with it, and obviously, neither does Louis, since Harry’s never heard the man speak ill of his father.

Elizabeth places the mug upside down in the dish rack next to the sink before turning back to Harry with a small grin upon her lips.  “Of course, like, now that we’re older, we can do more of what we _want_ and stuff,” she says, coming back over and crossing her leg over the other once she sits down.  “But growing up, it was just normal.”

Even though he’s only been told one story, Harry is connecting dots with the speed of light.  This explains _so_ much, why Louis never wanted to even _touch_ on the subject of his sexuality, why he’d been staring at Harry like he’d seen the devil _that_ night, why he used to push himself near his breaking point because he felt it was necessary.  Elizabeth probably thinks whatever happened while he was young doesn’t have an affect on him now, but Harry knows it does.  He’s still throwing those dandelions in the trash.  He’s throwing them in the trash metaphorically, and probably even subconsciously.  That’s probably why he hadn’t called, because he knew he had these _feelings_ that he most likely thought were wrong, and every time he wanted to pick up the phone and talk to his friend, he stopped himself, scolded himself and tossed away the thought, closing the lid on it.

“I can see why you guys kissed,” she says, thinking about it as she lets a full yawn out into her hand.  “Until you get proper closure, you’re always going to have a thing for him.  You guys never, I guess, _ended_ officially, so obviously, you never fully let those feelings go.”

Harry swallows, knowing she’s right, mostly because Zayn had already told him this before.

“I guess you shouldn’t beat yourself up about kissing him, even though you _do_ have boyfriend,” she says, getting back up to her feet as she yawns some more.  “I mean, I _hate_ cheaters, and if Jordan ever did what you did tonight, I’d chop off his balls.”

Harry becomes sufficiently downcast in response to that, because it definitely doesn’t make him feel any better about himself.

“But I don’t know your situation,” she continues, her tone calm as she presses her lips into a grin.  She comes up to him, stretching her arms out for a hug as she leans down in order to embrace him, and Harry has no idea why he already feels so comfortable around her despite missing out on the five years of knowing her that the other men got.

“Feel better.  Get some sleep,” she mumbles into his hair before pressing a quick kiss into it. 

She bids him another goodnight before making her way out of the kitchen and toward the halls, Harry finding himself alone once again, bearing no idea of just how late into the night it is.

Harry eventually gets himself up, going over to the sink in order to rinse out his mug as well, and he knows he’s tired, but for some reason, he doesn’t want to sleep yet.

He spends some time simply walking around the kitchen with roaming eyes, breathing steadily and attempting to get a feel for where Louis’ lived for so long.  He eventually does this throughout the entire place, and he’s pleased to find that the condo actually _does_ have a homely feel to it.   It’s as though Louis had attempted to add that feeling to it, with the few family photos hung on the walls in the living room and den, central decorative figures and lamps in every room, and even a cute little painting in the hallway of an enchanting night sky reminiscent of Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_.

It’s clean though, of course it is, because what else would Harry expect from Louis, but it’s still comfy and full of life.

As Harry’s dragging his feet down the hallway, he comes to a stop next to a door that’s been partially left open, his eyes quickly taking notice of how this room is the only one in the house where the lights are still on.

He knows with everything in him that it’s Louis’ bedroom, just because of the breathing he can hear from inside it as the man sleeps.

Harry lets himself in, slipping in through the space that the open door gives him as his eyes move restlessly in order to scan the room.  It’s not as tidy as the rest of the house; there are articles of clothing on the floor and on the bed, although very few, his bed is unmade as he lays diagonally on top of it, his face planted in it as though he hadn’t even been planning on going to sleep and simply passed out, and there’s even a stray sneaker on the ground towards his bathroom, which is also cracked open, the light from inside pouring into the already lit bedroom.

Harry walks into the bathroom in order to flick off the light, knowing it’s his duty as a fellow adult who also has to pay the light bill.

He then steps back into Louis’ bedroom, situating himself on top of a bin in the corner of the area and simply watching.  He leans forward on his elbows, joins his hands loosely, and just looks at Louis from where he sits across the room, his entire body coursing with an unprecedented fire now that he and Elizabeth had shared that conversation.

The jacket Louis had once been wearing is now sprawled out on the bed next to him as the man rests his head against the unkempt sheets, lips faintly parted as his eyelashes lay against his cheeks and his chest moves in and out with a slow steadiness.

Harry remembers times where he would watch him like this.  Watch his eyelids go heavy as he’d mumble languid words to Harry all the way up until the moment he fell asleep. It used to seem like the only time the boy ever truly remained still was when he was asleep, which served as sort of a calming remedy for Harry as he watched him, laid next to him, curled his fingers to resist reaching out and wrapping around him.

He watches Louis gently breathe in and out where he’s clumsily spread over the bed, and he doesn’t even attempt to swallow the lump in his throat.  His eyes are positively welling and he lets them, because it’s about time he allows himself to properly cry.  He and this man hadn’t spoken in _years_ and Harry was broken for every single one of them, and it’s time he lets himself cry without feeling weak about it.  All he’s wanted in order to fill out the chipped edges of his life was to be with Louis again.  Yeah, he’s happy at his job, and he’s getting by well enough, and he _hadn’t_ cried over Louis for a record five months before coming here, but he’d known there was always this _hole_.  Nothing was complete for all five of those years, and Harry knew it.

Harry sniffles, rubbing at his nose as his vision becomes blurry with wetness.

“I’m in love with you too,” Harry whispers.

Louis responds by emitting a faint whistling sound from between his lips as he exhales, and Harry bites back a grin as he wipes a tear away from his cheek.

Harry gets up, blowing air out of his mouth as he takes one thorough, sadly fond look at the man, and then he walks over to his door in order to exit, flicking off the light right before he steps out into the hallway.

He struggles to get himself comfortable as he makes a bed out of the living room couch, but he can’t seem to succeed in making a haven out of his heart.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

Louis wakes himself up with the loud groan that erupts from his mouth once he feels a pulsating pain against the crown of his head.

He rubs his hand against it as he turns his nose in order to fully bury it into his duvet, already tired of whatever today will bring.

He can’t hear Mack running around the place uncontrollably and screaming down the hallways, so he figures that’s good.

It takes him a substantial amount of time to get his face out of the duvet, and it takes him even _longer_ to flutter his eyes multiple times in order to properly open them.

He drags his hands over his eyes as he sits up, taking gradual notice of the fact that he’s still wearing the same clothes as the night before—which, he _remembers_.  He remembers falling asleep in this, despite Liam constantly telling him last night that he was drunk.  He was _not_ drunk, he was simply buzzed.

Acknowledging the fact that he wasn’t drunk and in fact _does_ remember things about last night brings about some other… _occurrences_ from last night to flood themselves into Louis’ mind, but his head is _already_ aching enough, so he decides not to give any attention to them.

He scoots over towards his night stand where he usually keeps his pain relievers, and it seems it’s his lucky day, because there’s a nearly empty, who-knows-how-old cup of water sitting just a few inches next to it.

He uses the last of it to get two pills down with much difficulty—even taking so long to swallow it that he begins to _taste_ it, which adds to the train wreck only the beginning of his day has already become.

He finally rolls himself out of bed after five minutes when he’s done with moaning and groaning and overall wanting to punch himself in the gut for being so stupid, and instead decides it would help to shower in order to reduce his state of misery.

It works just a hint, and by the time he’s brushed his teeth and changed into something more cozy and _not_ smelling of sweat and whatever a dingy bar smells like, the only thing he has to complain about _now_ is the fact that he still has a headache.

He’s stroking his wrist against his hair like some despondent cat as he makes his way out of his bedroom, intent to reach his kitchen in order to chug more water into his system and get his body to cooperate.

What he doesn’t expect to see in the den right before he reaches the kitchen is a person—more specifically, _Harry_ , the man sitting cross legged on the sofa in front of the bright television and eating what looks like one of Louis’ breakfast pockets.  He doesn’t know what to react to first—the fact that _Harry’s_ in his home for some reason, or the fact that he’s eating what’s probably the last breakfast pocket.

“This is new,” is all Louis settles on saying as he makes his way over to the kitchen and heads straight toward the fridge in order to open it.

Harry turns his head slightly where he still sits, and Louis doesn’t look back at him as he twists open a water bottle and keeps his eyes anyplace else.

“What, have you never seen a guy eating instant food and watching cartoons before?” Harry asks, although his words are muffled due to his partially stuffed mouth.

Louis doesn’t offer him a response as he keeps the water bottle against his lips and takes many gulps, but he’s still skeptical.  He remembers many things from last night—mostly things he’d like to _forget_ —but he definitely doesn’t know why Harry is here right now.

“Is your boyfriend not waiting for you at the hotel?” Louis asks, setting down the bottle on the counter and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.  He doesn’t mean for his tone to have a sliver of scorn in it, but once he’s heard himself speak, it’s blaringly oblivious—that is, if Harry fully turning around where he sits in order to give Louis his hard eyes doesn’t already indicate it enough.

“Are you serious right now?” Harry asks incredulously, his breakfast pocket just an inch away from his mouth as he holds it in mid-air.

Louis purses his lips together as he goes back into his fridge, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that he has veggie-fruit protein shakes and how appetizing they sound right about now.  He swiftly gets one out from the side shelf of the fridge and shakes it up with one hand as he responds to Harry.

“No, I’m just…” he begins, continuing to shake it vigorously.  “I’m just curious.  Is that bad?”

He ignores the mild way his body goes tense once the leather sounds of the couch indicate that the man is getting up, but he doesn’t let it show on his face as he works to twist open the cap of the protein shake bottle.

“It is,” Harry says, and sure enough, when Louis can’t help but glance over at him, he finds that he’s making his approach, paper plate in one hand and breakfast pocket in the other.  “It is, because I thought we were done with this fake shit.”

Louis huffs profusely, both from the frustration of Harry still being unnecessarily difficult _and_ the cap on this protein shake being unusually tight.  “Harry,” he sighs.  “I just asked a simple question.”

“Yeah, but don’t act like you actually care about my boyfriend,” Harry says, hoisting himself up onto the kitchen counter (which Louis has to bite his tongue in response to watching) as he takes another hefty bite.  “Like you care about the well-being of our relationship.”

“Okay whatever,” Louis replies, already over this conversation as he continues to fruitlessly twist at the bottle.

There’s a silence for a moment, and it becomes clear Harry is relentlessly staring him down as he finishes his breakfast that he’d so conveniently helped himself to in Louis’ freezer.  Louis just doesn’t know what he wants.  He’s obviously trying to get some reaction out of him right now, but it’s not going to happen.  Louis continues to let the background noises of the television and the low buzzing sounds of the running refrigerator be the only things heard, because he refuses to entertain him any further.

“We have to talk about last night,” Harry suddenly says, just as Louis’ pulling open the fridge with the thought that maybe a different bottle would probably have a looser cap.

He doesn’t let the chill of the man’s statement show as he continues to casually move, shrugging one shoulder.  “Nothing much to talk about, really.”

“Alright, no,” Harry says, setting whatever he’d been holding down on the counter next to him, which indicates to Louis he’s growing fed up for whatever reason.  “No,” he continues bluntly, shaking his head and crossing his arms.  “We’re not doing this.  I’ve already gone _five_ _years_ just trying to ignore everything that obviously happened, and three _long_ days pretending I haven’t been crushed by those five years, and—no.  I refuse to keep doing this childish shit with you when we both know we're more mature than that.”

Louis can’t help but look at him now as the irritation builds to an almost overflowing rate and he sets the bottle on the counter.  “What are you _talking_ about?” Louis asks tiredly, feeling as though it’s way too early for this drama.

“I’m talking about _last night_ ,” Harry replies, his eyes glaring deeply into Louis’.  “Your _tongue_.  In my _mouth_.”

This is what actually gets Louis to pause for a moment, his eyes narrowing only slightly as he looks at the counter and drums his fingers against the surface.  The silence stretches as Harry keeps his eyes glued to every breath Louis takes.

Louis’ tone is relatively quiet when he speaks up.  “I never said I didn’t remember that.”

His words seem to finally get Harry to soften a bit as he shifts around where he sits, easing up on drilling his eyes into Louis' head and instead chewing on his bottom lip.

“Why?” Harry asks, his voice much quieter now as he nears a whisper.  “Why did that happen?”  He’s facing forward now as his eyes go hazed, and it appears as though he’s asking both himself and Louis the question, as though it's been weighing him down for hours.

“It just did.  I had a few drinks, okay?” Louis replies, before drawing in a breath through his nose as he braces himself with his hands against the counter and avoids looking at Harry the same way the man is now not looking at him.  “Is that why you slept over at my house?  So you could harass me about it first thing in the morning?”

Harry presses his lips together in a sad fashion as he shrugs his shoulders, bringing his eyes back over to Louis.  “No, actually, my uh…” he begins, scratching at his hair.  “Caleb got mad at me, told me not to come back.  You know, the usual when your boyfriend wants to spend the night at a bar with a guy you don’t like instead of going back to the hotel with you.”

Louis chuckles slightly as he leans an elbow on the surface and finally moves his eyes toward Harry.  “Doesn’t even let you have friends,” he says, almost smugly as he reaches out a hand for the protein shake that’s been left on the counter.  “What a charming lad that is.”

“You’re talking as though you’re better than him,” Harry says casually as he stretches his arm out in order to grab at the bottle Louis’ holding, before looking pointedly at the man as he twists the cap off of it.

Louis blinks at him boredly, his mood almost beginning to border on angry as he makes a point of snatching the bottle back from Harry.  “That’s because I am,” Louis replies, before bringing it to his mouth in order to drink from it.

“Why does that matter, though?” Harry asks, bracing his palms against the counter in order to slide himself down from it.  “Why do you even care about anything that goes on between us?”

“Because you’re my _friend_ , Harry,” Louis says, now looking directly at Harry as the man stands with his back pressed against the counter.  “And obviously, that means I can’t just sit back and grin when someone fucking puts their _hands_ on you like Caleb did last night.”

Harry’s eyebrows immediately knit together in doubt as he looks at Louis as though he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.  “He didn’t put his hands on me—“

“Well, _whatever_ you classify it as,” Louis begins, his voice growing stern.  “Witnessing something like that—seeing how tight his hand was around your wrist—triggers something in me.  No matter how many stupid years we go without talking, I’m always going to have a protective nature over you.  C’mon Harry, you know that.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, and it even seems as though his cheeks turn just a tiny shade of red, but it goes away as quickly as it comes.  Louis knows there’s nothing for him to say, even though he’s going to try and find other ways to turn this into an argument.  Louis has no idea why he wants to argue so much instead of just letting things be—by the end of the week they’re going to be headed their separate ways again and going back to being distant, so why stress over things pointlessly?

“You care about me,” Harry begins, slowly nodding his head as he continues not to meet Louis’ eye.  “But you don’t care about my relationship.”

“No.  I don’t,” Louis replies quickly.  “Not when it involves him.”

“What about if it involves you?” Harry asks, his eyes finally coming up to attach themselves to Louis’ as Louis’ breath comes to a halt.

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, but he also doesn’t look away from Harry, because he has a sudden urge not to as the green irises of his gaze seem to have some kind of hypnotic effect.

He’s not going to say anything, however, because he doesn’t know what to say and he’s not in any way prepared for whatever the man’s talking about.  He doesn’t even know what the words mean.  Maybe he does—but he’s not sure.

“I knew it,” Harry replies with laughter after enough time has passed that he’s accepted Louis isn't going to say anything.  “All of that—everything last night was only possible because you drank, and Caleb wasn’t around.  Otherwise—“

“I’m—I’m not _scared_ , if that’s what you're implying,” Louis interrupts, his natural defense in response to being regarded as fearful kicking into full gear.  “Of—of Caleb, or…or doing things when I’m not drunk, and—“ Louis’ stammering a bit as his breath begins to feel just a tad more shallow, but it seems Harry’s patiently waiting for him to speak as his big eyes remain on him.  “I do what I want, whether or fucking not I have alcohol in my system.”

“Then do it right now,” Harry replies without missing a beat, and immediately, everything is quiet once again.

Louis’ not exactly certain, but he’s also extremely certain of what Harry’s implying as it seems the kitchen is floating through space, only the both of them occupying it as the rest of the world simply drifts further away. 

Louis’ bottom lip moves just a bit as he and Harry stare at each other and his fingers mess with the cap on the bottle he’s holding, and everything is so _deep_ and _heavy_ right now that he’s not sure his heart can take it. 

He can feel it—the faint feeling of desire in the darkest, quietest corner of his being that wants to do it.  To prove he isn’t scared.

Or for a totally different reason, even.

And Harry patiently waits, his eyes gazing into Louis’ intensely in a way that completely separates this Harry from the one Louis had known years ago.  He didn’t even know the man had it in him, the ability to be this serious.

Louis’ slowly setting the bottle down on the counter, preparing to throw caution to the wind as he takes a gentle step forward.

“ _Louisss_!”

The high pitched, dragged out sound of his own name causes Louis to flinch only slightly, and he fully expects to see Mack running towards the kitchen, arms out in hopes of a hug.

Louis disregards everything that’d been happening before then as he turns toward her, getting down low in order to give the little girl exactly what she wants.

“Doesn’t take you long to get energetic after waking up, does it?” Louis asks as he hauls her up with both hands under her arms, the little girl giggling profusely in the pink footie pajamas she has on.

“Mommy’s still asleep,” she replies with a smile, just as Louis’ setting her back down on the ground and messing up her wild hair.  “She’s a sleepyhead.”

“She’s always been,” Louis says with an easy sigh, crouching down as he speaks closely to her.  “So what is it gonna be?  Pancakes, French toast, or waffles?”

Mack brings both hands to softly smack either of his cheeks, and it only stings a little, but Louis laughs it off.  “ _Waffles_.”

“Waffles it is,” Louis replies with a shrug, before getting to his feet in order to go to the cabinet where he keeps the waffle maker.

Mack zooms around the kitchen with delight and giddy feet, and it seems that this is what causes her to finally take notice of Harry, which brings her to an abrupt stop as she punches playfully at his leg in greeting, before proceeding to continue her commentary on how funny his last name is.

Louis watches with a sort of fond restraint, because he loves how much Mack seems to adore him, but as he’s moving around his kitchen in order to get out the milk, eggs, flour, and various other ingredients he needs for the waffles, his mind is still lingering on what had happened _before_ Mack had popped up—or what had been _about_ to happen.

“Since when can you cook?” Harry asks once Louis’ gotten around to stirring the ingredients up in a bowl.  By now Harry has finished enthusing Mack, the girl currently standing up on the chair by the kitchen table in order to play with the apples in the basket.

“Since I started living by myself and realized it probably isn’t the healthiest option to live off of takeout and pizza,” Louis replies with a shrug and a tiny grin as he cracks open another egg against the edge of the bowl before letting the yolk fall into it.

Harry laughs quietly in response, and Louis can see the man scratch at his shoulder in his peripheral.  “Yeah,” he replies.  “I’ve uh…I’ve realized that too.”

Louis purses his lips in order to contain the stupid grin he wants to make as he continues preparing the mix for the waffles.  Although Harry _is_ different—it’s just a fact and Louis doesn’t take it back—Louis can sometimes see parts of his old character peeking out, like right now as he watches Louis with big eyes and pretends he doesn’t live off of takeout anymore.  At first, it seemed as though that goofy, constantly enchanted part of Harry had completely died, but as the days go by, Louis becomes aware he’d been wrong.  He’s still in there.

“You want waffles?” Louis asks, fully looking at the man as he waits for the waffle maker to heat up properly. 

Harry shakes his head slowly, already pushing himself away from the counter in order to stand up straight.  “I should probably get back to the hotel, anyway.”

Something in Louis perishes just a bit, and he’s sure it’s noticeable as whatever grin he’d been wearing falls.

“I’ve gotta…handle these issues I’ve caused,” he forces out, offering Louis a nice grin as he begins away. 

Louis simply nods, not knowing how else to respond as his heart begins to feel heavy with the knowledge of where he’s going.  Who he’s going back _to_.

Harry offers him one last halfhearted goodbye before he’s out of the kitchen, and Louis’ still standing there and forgetting about the heated waffle maker altogether as his throat begins to feel tight.

“What’s wrong Louis?” Mack asks from where she’s fully sprawled on top of the dining table.

This is what causes Louis to snap out of it, lighting his eyes back up as he grins and comes over to Mack.  “Nothing,” he says happily, getting her up off of the table and carrying her over to her high chair in the corner of the kitchen in order to slide her down into it.  “Wanna watch me pour the mix inside?”

Mack’s interest is sufficiently peaked as she beats her fist against the table of her high chair, and Louis drags her all the way to the counter where he’s cooking.  “Can _I_ help?” she asks pleadingly, her tone bordering on squeaky.  “ _Please_?”

“Maybe when you’re four,” Louis replies matter-of-factly as he moves in order to pour the bowl, which brings Mack to quickly groan and whine about how he always says that.

Louis succeeds in letting go of whatever lingering thoughts he’d had regarding Harry’s departure and instead enjoys a carefree morning of preparing waffles for all who will eat, laughing with Mack about pretty much every minor occurrence, and filling the contents of his empty stomach.  The morning seems to definitely be heading in a more satisfying direction once he finally lets Mack out of her high chair and is working on washing dishes.

That is, until he hears his doorbell ring.

It’s not that he _hates_ the sight of his mother and father once he opens the door and finds them behind it, but it definitely lifts away whatever blanket of comfort and ease had been encompassing Louis’ place before then. 

He loves his parents—it’s obvious in the way he constantly keeps in touch with them, filling them in on whatever goes on in his life, and gladly accepts their greetings (his mum with a hug, his father with a handshake) before he lets them in.

It’s just that—the both of them?  Together?  At the same _time_?

Louis has no idea what he did to deserve this.

He’d known they were going to show up sooner or later, since obviously, their daughter’s wedding is around the corner and they need to be in town in order to attend it.

He can already see the judgment behind his father’s eyes as he takes practiced steps around the place, and Louis hopes he doesn’t have anything negative to say about it, especially since he spends most of his time making sure it’s tidy and well-kept for surprise moments like these.  He’s mentally crossing his fingers that his dad doesn’t step into his _room_ though.

It’s not long before his father is demanding to know where Elizabeth is and condemning the fact that she’s still asleep as it approaches eleven in the morning, which is why Louis eventually leaves them in the living room in order to go into the (former) study so he can wake her up.

He finds her still bundled under heaps of blankets upon the couch pressed against the wall, one leg dangling off of it as she continues to sleep the day away.

Louis shakes her abruptly, not giving a care as to whether or not it annoys her.

She whines, and Louis knows she’s pouting, even though the wild flurry of her hair blocks most of her face.

“There’s a train wreck waiting to happen in the living room,” Louis says once she’s finally got one eye open.  “Wake up.”

Elizabeth seems beyond done with the morning already as she attempts to get her head back into the cushion of the couch, but Louis refuses to be left alone with his parents' obvious friction, so he doesn’t let up on shaking her vigorously until she has no choice but to sit up.

She eventually comes out with Louis, the tee she’d slept in thoroughly wrinkled as she walks up to greet each of her parents the same way Louis had, and it only takes two minutes for things to turn sour as she sits on the couch with Mack in her lap.

“Why was Louis cooking breakfast?” their father asks sternly after the question of what Mack had eaten for breakfast is answered by Louis.

Elizabeth seems slightly taken aback at the question as she slides her tongue over her lips and blinks slowly, as though she’s still recovering from being harshly woken up from her slumber.  “Oh—I was just sleeping…I went to bed pretty late last night—“

“There’s no reason for Louis to be in the kitchen cooking while you’re _here_ , and your arms are working,” his father replies, his eyes serious and cold as Louis sits up from where he’s situated on the couch next to Elizabeth.

“It’s fine,” Louis cuts in, shaking his head as his mother begins to look saddened.  “I don’t mind, really.”

“Yeah, he was just trying to be decent,” his mother adds, setting one hand against his father’s arm, her voice sweet and soft.

“Is this how you’re going to be with your husband after you get married?” his father asks Elizabeth, completely ignoring their attempts to defend her.  “And you actually think you’re _ready_?”

“Dad,” Elizabeth replies, feeling defeated as she moves her hair out of her face and sighs heavily.  Louis feels so helpless in terms of defending her as she appears tired, stressed out, and beaten up.  “Jordan doesn’t care about stuff like that.  I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she says.

“And you really shouldn’t be making her second-think things like that four days away from her wedding,” his mother cuts in, her voice a hint stronger as she looks at their father disapprovingly. 

That gets them into a mild squabble, his dad explaining how he’d never really even been fully supportive of this anyway, and his mother talking about how it shouldn’t matter and he should put aside his displeasure just for the next few days that they’re here, and Louis buries his head in his lap, because this is only the _beginning_.

Eventually, although it seemed at first like it was going to be utterly impossible, everyone comes together enough to successfully prepare to leave the house in order to get to the bakery Elizabeth had scheduled to visit today so she could look at options for cakes.  Fourdays before the wedding.

It’s not any less stressful once they get there, and Louis finds himself beginning to despise the fact that Elizabeth had stressed that _everyone_  in the family should come in order to get as many opinions as possible on cake.  Louis’ not against sweets and swirly frosting, but he’s not sure how many more tiny samples of cake he can take before his insides turn into sugar.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever tasted bad cake,” Louis says once he’s finished a sample of some macadamia nut almond frosting nastiness.

His mother sighs with disappointment, moving her plate out of Mack’s reach as the girl attempts to get at it (she’s already had enough cake for the day).  “I like it.  It’s unique.”

This results in Elizabeth passionately agreeing with her, which brings them to lightly discuss whether or not Jordan would like it, which brings their father to criticize the fact that Jordan isn’t here, and that ends in Elizabeth defending his honor and explaining how his job wouldn’t let him off of the hook for his business trip and how he’ll be here.

It’s all very tedious, especially because Louis' been here for three hours instead of with his friends, doing whatever it is they’ve decided to do today.  It’s also tiring, having no one agree on anything, along with having his father not hold back in showing absolutely no enthusiasm and letting it be clear he doesn’t care about this.

Although they try to disguise it, it’s just too obvious (and always has been), the fact that his parents clearly don’t get along and are putting in minimal effort in order to come together for this.  It was always unsettling growing up, and it’s just as unsettling now. 

His father is also nitpicking at everything Elizabeth does, which is both irritating and saddening, but not for the reasons that should be obvious.  It’s more so because he’s not doing it to _Louis_ , which he knows he should be thankful for, but all it does is remind him that his father has pretty much given up on him as a son.  He doesn’t closely scrutinize every move he makes under a magnifying glass, because Louis has already failed in many ways and let him down over the past few years, what with not getting into the graduate school he’d intended, moving far away without consulting his parents, and having a job his father doesn’t regard as top tier.  So he simply doesn’t care anymore, and it’s times like these, when he’s vehemently questioning Elizabeth about where Mack is eventually going to go to school, that he’s reminded of how he hasn’t lived up to any of his father’s expectations.

They’re in the middle of going off topic for the millionth time, his mum demanding to see a picture of the wedding dress and Elizabeth refusing because she’s "shown too many people”, when Louis’ phone buzzes on the table they’re sitting around.

He picks it up, feeling relieved as his family does another round of cake.

 **Niall:** _where ye at?_

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, feeling that much shittier about being stuck here, and he turns on his phone camera and positions his device to face Mack, who is across the table sneaking pieces of his mother’s cake into her mouth, frosting littering the tip of her nose.  He snaps a quick picture of her with slight amusement before moving in order to text the man back.

 **Louis:** _more wedding planning stuff. it’s a family day & i don’t think i’ll be getting out of it anytime soon_

Louis gets a reply pretty quickly, and it consists of a simple frowning face from Niall.

Louis sets his phone back down with a heavy breath, blinking tiredly and wishing he were somewhere else.

Although he’s trying not to acknowledge it, that knowing part of him is aware he also wishes he were with the rest of them, because Harry is what comes along with being with the rest of them.

He doesn’t know why he suddenly just…wants to see Harry.  He feels that maybe it’s because they’re finally starting to progress, and he wants to continue that progression.

Or maybe he wants to talk about stuff.  Stuff he’s always had a desire to talk about, but never got the courage to dial his number and bring his phone to his ear. 

Or maybe he just wants to be with him.  He figures they don’t even have to talk.  They can just be within each other’s bubbles and brush arms and sometimes grin at one another and not think about how they left each other, or how they’re going to be leaving each other again.

He doesn’t know.

It emits a half-chuckle from his lips as he thinks about it.  Here he is, thinking about spending time with Harry, even though it was _Niall_  who had texted him, inquiring his whereabouts.  That’s all it’s been lately—Niall and Zayn alternating between showing that they’re eager to be reunited with Louis again.  Never Harry.  He’s pretty sure the man wouldn't even text him if his life depended on it.

The activity of tasting different desserts eventually evolves into doing absolutely nothing related to it, and instead all of them are having a long discussion about what else is needed to get together for the wedding and when specifically Jordan will be here and what the budget looks like and all that other stuff Louis has heard a thousand times by now.

It eventually comes to light that Elizabeth’s “wedding reception dress” (that she’d kept at their childhood home in order to avoid anyone _ever_ seeing it, as well as Mack having the chance to mess it up) has been left at the house by their father, which becomes a disastrous emergency as Elizabeth has a near meltdown over it.

“Why do you need it right _now_?” Louis asks, watching as Elizabeth literally fans herself and her mother has gotten up in order to soothe her with both hands to her shoulders.

“I have to make sure it _fits_ —“

“You literally bought it after trying it on,” Louis replies with frustration, Mack’s curious eyes moving quickly between the both of them as she seems completely lost as to what’s happening.

“That was _months ago_ ,” she says.  “I feel like I’ve gained weight since then!  My tailor doesn’t work on weekends and I need it _now_  so he can fix it before it's too late.”

“You know what?  I’ll get it,” Louis says, already pushing his chair back and grabbing his jacket that hangs off of the back of it. 

“Are you sure?” his mother asks, looking up at him apologetically.  “It’s quite a drive and it’s late in the evening.”

“Nope, It’s okay,” Louis replies, sliding on his polyester jacket as it seems Elizabeth finally begins to settle down and stops looking like she’s on the brink of passing out.  “Just an hour and a half drive.  I’ll be back soon.”

Also, even though his _father_ was the one who’d left it, it didn’t look like he was going to make any efforts to go back and get it. 

Louis figures it’ll be nice to get away anyway, even if it _is_ going to be several miles away at night, and he’s going to be annoyed all the way there and back as he thinks about how fucking _frustrating_ everything is—his parents, the wedding planning, Harry _still_ being in the back of his mind— _everything_.

He gets the house keys from his dad before finding his way back to his condo in order to _then_ get into his car so that he can leave, and everything is so overwhelmingly frustrating that he finds himself sitting down on the sidewalk outside of his building, simply allowing himself a breather.

He has his hood over his head and he zips his jacket up to his chest as it seems the night is beginning to border on chilly.  He taps his feet against the ground with vigor.

He pulls at his sleeves as he often does when he’s irritable and just a bit jittery, and he just wishes everything would fucking _stop_.  Time, changes, his loud thoughts, all of it.

It seems as though Harry’s presence in his mind has intensified increasingly as his day has gone on, because right now, he can’t seem to get the man out of his head.

He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking about him, thinking about how long ago, after a stressful day such as this, the man would’ve been his go-to for winding down and retreating back into his haven of comfort and sleepy jokes.  How he’d already feel at ease simply skateboarding to the boy’s place, knowing the best part of his day was about to start.

He needs that now.

But he can’t—he can’t fucking _have_ that, because Harry’s with his boyfriend.

He pulls on his sleeves some more with fingers that are growing white with tension, wishing he could just _accept_ it.  Harry’s happy now, regardless of whether or not Louis thinks his boyfriend is good for him—it doesn’t fucking _matter_ , because Harry’s content with his life, and he’s moved on, and why the fuck can’t Louis just _accept_ that—

The buzzing of his phone in the pocket of his jacket cuts right into his thoughts, and he grinds his teeth together as he moves in order to check it, already knowing it’s just going to be Niall rubbing whatever they’re doing in his face.

What he _actually_ finds throws him off a great deal.

It’s from an unsaved number, but Louis knows who it is with one blink.

It simply reads: _i want to see you_

Louis blinks down at it for many seconds, the light from his phone illuminating his face as he continues to sit in the midst of the young night.

After spending most of the day with this exact person flying through his mind, now that he’s actually getting acknowledgement from him, he doesn’t even know what to do.  Pathetic.

Louis stands up from the sidewalk, gripping his phone in his right hand as he paces.  Actually fucking _paces_ in response to a simple five-worded text from the one person he wants to be with right now.

He knows (vaguely) why _he_ wants to be with Harry right now, but he doesn’t know why _Harry_ wants to be with him.  He’s not sure if he wants to know, because it could just be him wanting to _talk_ and _discuss_ and _argue_ more about last night, which is the exact opposite of what Louis wants.

He has his hands tucked up under his chin as he walks, pressing his lips together and letting his thoughts deflect off of one another.

He was drunk last night.

He shakes his head, because he knows for a fact he’d spent so much time stressing that he _wasn’t_ drunk, so he knows that isn’t true.

Okay, he was _almost_ drunk last night.  He’ll settle on that.

He was _almost_ drunk last night, and obviously, he’s way more carefree and…open when he’s had a drink.  That version of him likes to be close to others, and giggle about every and anything, and sometimes…kiss people.

That doesn’t _mean_ anything though.

Or maybe it does?

Louis shakes his head some more, because _no_ , they’re not going to be talking about this.  He doesn’t even want to talk about this with _himself_. 

But he can’t deny that he wants to see Harry.  That’s the only thing he knows for certain right now.

He knows that things are already rocky with Harry and Caleb right now, so the fact that the man has somehow gotten around to getting the motivation to text Louis about how he wants to see him obviously means something.  And it’s mildly touching.  It makes Louis feel sweet and _wanted_ and—

He abruptly pulls his phone out, sending the text to Harry as fast as he can before he gets the chance to change his mind.

 **Louis:** _meet me outside of my building_

And there.  That’s that.

If Harry doesn’t remember how to get here, then Louis figures it’s a sign that they shouldn’t be meeting up anyways, and he definitely won't provide the address to him.

He settles back on sitting against the sidewalk, stuffing the phone in his pocket and promising himself he won’t take it out again.  He’ll simply sit here and wait.  If the man’s not here in half an hour, he’ll just leave, and that will be the end of it.

The shadowy figure of someone approaching on the sidewalk emerges after only twenty minutes of waiting.

Louis’ eyes move quickly to look at him just as the man does the same.  Harry's clad in a pale cargo jacket and has high top converses on his feet, and the casual, relaxed sight of his attire comforts Louis a tiny bit.

“You’re late,” Louis greets him with.

Harry scoffs as he kicks a foot at the ground.  “Don’t act like twenty minutes isn’t impressive.”

Louis raises one eyebrow as he gets to his feet.  “Whatever,” he says.  “C’mon, we’re going on a trip.”

Harry seems mildly taken aback as Louis is already journeying to where he usually parks his car, but the man eventually moves in order to follow him, although his footsteps are hesitant.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks once they’re situated outside of his car on opposite sides and Louis is fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“You’ll see,” Louis replies easily before unlocking the vehicle and allowing entry.

Harry doesn’t have any other questions as he gets in right along with Louis, and Louis’ heart beats just a hint louder in response to how reminiscent of the old times this is—even though they’re older, his car is different, and they’re both completely unsure of every single thing that’s happening right now.

“Wow,” Harry says, his eyes moving around the interior and his right hand tapping at the glove compartment.  “ _Someone’s_ upgraded.”

Louis shakes his head as though the man is ridiculous as he starts up the car.

“You act like you’ve never been in a car before,” Louis replies, pulling out of the parking lot as Harry proceeds to mess with the settings on the chair, moving it forward and backward as though he’s an awestruck child.

“Excuse me for never having been in a car _this_ new,” Harry says.  “I’m not used to the lavish life.”

“Shut up,” Louis mumbles into his fingers as he drives with one hand, before biting down on his nails just a bit as they continue down the road.

He‘s already beginning to feel overall just… _better_ , simply because of being sat next to Harry, but he’s also realized he doesn’t know what to say.  He almost feels like he’s _nervous_ , but he tries his best to shrug off the feeling, because it makes no sense.  He doesn’t get nervous, especially around _Harry._

Eventually, Harry’s wandering hands get around to messing with his old stack of CD’s he only keeps under the passenger seat for occasional convenience, and he makes a show of flipping through them, Louis watching him in his peripheral and trying not to grin too widely.

“Looks like you’ve grown a music taste,” Harry says, peeking up at Louis out of the corner of his eye as he continues to study each disc.

“It’s either that or torturing myself through the radio every morning on my way to work,” Louis replies.

“Makes sense,” Harry replies with a nod, stacking the CD’s up in his lap, his head teasingly swinging in Louis’ direction.  “Your music taste is still no match for mine, though.”

Louis scoffs as he free hands it, the straight-forwardness of the highway starting to make him a little dizzy.  “Please,” he says.  “Now you probably listen to like, nursery rhymes, or something.”

Harry gasps overdramatically, which emits a giggle out of Louis’ mouth as he refuses to look directly at him, knowing it’ll make him smile so hard his face breaks in half.

“Allow me to prove you wrong,” Harry says, already moving in order to mess around with buttons he knows nothing about in order to get his phone connected to the surround sound speakers.  He eventually figures it out (although it takes a while) and the generally quiet, uneventful atmosphere in Louis’ car is replaced with something more high-spirited as “I’m Your Baby Tonight” by Whitney Houston begins playing.

Louis blows his lighthearted chuckle into his fingers as he rests against the windowsill, amused by the fact that Harry’s spontaneous and randomized taste in music is another aspect about him that hasn’t changed.

“Really nice song, isn’t it?” Harry says, Louis aware that the man is looking at him, even though he isn’t looking back.  “It’s got some great lyrics.”

“Yeah, that’s been established since the nineties,” Louis replies with raised eyebrows.

“Still,” Harry says with a cheeky grin. 

The ride continues in the lighthearted, moderately surfaced direction it had began in, none of them saying things that are too hard-hitting or deep and simply listening as Harry continues to browse through his playlist and save the both of them from whatever silences may occur.

Not many silences occur though, because they both continue to talk and joke lightly, piggy-backing off of one another over the continuous music, commenting on stupid things like bumpers of cars that look like faces, and it feels almost exactly like the old times.  They aren’t discussing the humongous topics that are actively being avoided, aren’t acknowledging the obvious distance they’d put between themselves prior to only the last few days, they’re just relaxing.  For once, it seems.

Louis’ laughing at something stupid Harry had said about how beetle convertibles look like puppies when the song changes.  He wouldn’t have had any noticeable reaction if it were just some regular song coming on shuffle, but something sparks inside Louis because of how odd the song sounds right off the bat.  It’s like…familiar, but not?  It sounds distantly familiar.  He feels like maybe he heard this combination of daydream vocals, guitar riffs, and drums in a dream or something.

“I know why you’re making that face,” Harry comments, immediately bringing Louis to become aware of his pulled together eyebrows and parted lips.

Louis then turns his expression to Harry instead, now genuinely concerned about why this song is striking some faint part inside him that he didn’t even know existed.

“It’s the one I used to play a whole lot, remember?” Harry asks.  “The one I said reminded me of you?”

Louis settles gently into his seat in response to that, ignoring the faint surge he feels in his chest as he brings his eyes back forward.  “You still listen to it?” he asks, keeping his voice normal and unaffected.

“’Course,” Harry replies, Louis continuing to feel the man’s eyes focused on him. 

Louis doesn’t know how to feel about that.  Harry _did_ used to play him this song—at least once during every study-turned-jam session they used to have late at night.  Although Louis never really understood why, the man insisted that the song was symbolic of him, and it was as flattering as it was silly.  He just doesn’t know why he would _still_ listen to it.

“Might be time to update your playlist then,” Louis replies, now wearing a smug expression as he braces both hands on the wheel.

He knows the man is probably sporting that thoroughly offended, yet fond expression on his face as he shifts in his seat, nodding his head at Louis as though he's been challenged.

Nothing’s made frictional as Louis nears the house, and once he’s pulling up in the driveway, it’s almost hard to believe, the fact that he’d actually survived an hour and a half car ride with Harry.

“So this is the special destination?” Harry asks, his hands in his pockets as he walks alongside Louis towards the front door.

“Yep.  It’s my childhood home, and basically you’re just accompanying me while I run an errand,” Louis explains as he gets the front door unlocked and works in order to push it open.

“I’ll take it,” Harry replies.

Once they step inside, Louis quickly takes notice of just a few things that are different from the last time he’d visited a few months ago, like the different color paint (now beige instead of white), rearranged couches, and a new rug in the hallway, but other than that, not much has changed.

“So this is where you grew up?” Harry asks, following behind Louis as they travel up the stairs, their footsteps steadily echoing throughout the overtly quiet and empty house.

“Yep,” Louis replies.

“I…” Harry begins, taking the time to look around as they traverse upon the hallway at the top of the stairs.  “I like it.”

“Don’t lie,” Louis says, scoffing over his shoulder as he pulls open the door to his sister’s room in order to see if she’d left the god forsaken dress somewhere in her closet.

“Yeah, I was lying,” Harry admits, getting comfy on the pink, frilly sheets of Elizabeth’s old bed as he sits on it, his eyes moving continuously.  “This house really has sort of a creepy, ghost vibe, if I’m being honest.”

When he begins humming the theme song to the Ghostbusters under his breath, Louis looks over his shoulder from where he’s rummaging the closet, offering the man one of his disapproving, yet doting looks as Harry grins right back with a giggle.

“Can I see your room?” Harry asks suddenly, once Louis has accepted the fact that the dress definitely isn’t in here.

“Sure, even though I don’t think it should classify as my room anymore,” Louis says with a shrug, already joining his hands together as he signals the man to follow him out the door.  “Usually when I visit now I just crash on the couch, or something.”

They travel further down the hallway, and Louis’ beginning to resonate with the whole ghost thing Harry was talking about.  He's pretty sure it’s because everything is so quiet and clean and empty and just…weird.  It’s odd how he hadn’t really noticed this until now.

His bedroom is just like he’d remembered from the long time ago he’d last been in it, his bed and the gray sheets on top of it pushed to the corner, the blinds closed and drapeless, and every table, carpet grain, and area of wall exceedingly spotless.

Harry gestures around the room with useless hands, his eyes wide and wandering.  “Lifeless.”

A grin tugs at one corner of Louis’ lips as he sits on top of the dresser and watches Harry begin to look at a young picture of him that’s on the wall near the closet.

“Honest and blunt, just the way I like you,” Louis replies with a pleased smile.

He can hear the gentle huffs of Harry’s laugh as the man absentmindedly traces a finger against the picture frame of the photo he’d been looking at, although his eyes are now moving to other areas in the room.

“You don’t like me,” Harry says, almost in a joking manner as Louis watches him walk around on curious feet, now tapping at the handle on the closed closet with fidgety fingers.

“Or…do you?” Harry asks, his eyes suddenly coming up to meet Louis', a subtle innocence behind his stare as his hand lingers on the closet handle.  He adds another noncommittal huff of laughter as he continues.  “Do you like me?”

Louis rubs his palms together where they remain on his lap, just now becoming aware of how his hoodie is gradually beginning to slide off of his head because of how he’s starting to feel exposed and unshielded.

“Sure I do,” Louis replies, taking the easy route as he maintains a casual composure.

Harry’s eyes fall shut for just a moment, as though he’s tired in the emotional sense rather than the physical.

“You know what I meant,” he says quietly.

Louis chews on his lip for just a moment before getting himself down from his dresser, deciding that it would make sense to actually continue looking for his sister’s dress, since that’s why he’d come here in the first place.

“I’m not doing this right now,” is all he says as he prepares to walk out of the room.

The man doesn’t seem to want that to happen, however, because at the very last moment, Louis finds Harry in front of him, pressed against the doorframe with a stiff hand and staring at Louis with relentless eyes.

He’s _trapping_ him.

“Well, _I_ am,” Harry says.

Louis takes two steps back, already beginning to feel as though his fight-or-flight response is being triggered as Harry swallows and prepares himself to say _whatever_ it is he’d intercepted him so harshly in order to say.

“I…I’ve spent too many years weighed down by this and I can’t—“ he seems to choke just a bit, Louis now stretching out his sleeves to the max as he takes another gentle step back.  “I can’t just get here, _finally_ be in front of you, and not talk about it.”

“Harry,” Louis practically whispers with a sigh, even though he knows there’s no use.  Harry’s already turned his dramatic switch on and he’s obviously not going to stop until they’re both in shambles.

“I like you,” Harry says, his gaze set directly on Louis’ as the hand that’d been pressed against the doorframe curls into a fist.  “And not just as a friend, I—it’s much more than that.  I have feelings for you.  It’s probably even _past_ that, actually…”  He stammers slightly, his eyes finally going somewhere else as he blinks down at the ground between them with conflicting thought.  “But I fucking _like_ you, Louis.  So much, and I have for a while.  I’m pretty sure it’s obvious at this point.”

Louis picks at his nails as he looks down at them, feeling like he’s suddenly in a glass box that’s making him exceedingly vulnerable, as well as closing in on him, giving him no space to breathe. 

He _knew_ this was going to happen.  He should’ve just declined the man’s offer to see him, because he’s not fucking _ready_ for this.  He doesn’t think he’ll ever be.

“Harry,” Louis repeats, both of their eyes not meeting one another.  “I don’t know what you want me to say to that—“

“Say _something_!” Harry practically explodes, his voice strained and his eyes almost red once Louis’ gaze shoots back up to them.  “I’m telling you I _like_ you, I _more_ than like you—and after five _fucking_ years of not even talking to you, when I looked at you for the first time that night, I still felt the exact same way I did all that time ago, and that _means_ something,” he continues, his voice going a bit breathy as he sounds more pleading.  “That’s gotta mean something, doesn’t it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Louis says, already shaking his head as he walks forward with plans to get past Harry and into the hallway.

Surprisingly, Harry actually moves aside for him, probably because of the fierce irritation now growing on Louis’ face and how close it seems he is to his breaking point.

“ _Louis_ ,” he hears the man call from behind him, although the sound of his following footsteps are nonexistent as he seems to be staying right where he is.

“I can only focus on one thing at a time Harry,” Louis says matter-of-factly as he moves toward his parents’ master bedroom at the end of the hall, pulling open the double door entrance.

“Of course you’re doing this,” the man scoffs from far away.  “I don’t even know why I like you so much sometimes.”

Louis is inside his parents' bedroom now, and even though he's supposed to be searching their closet for a pretty dress, he pauses his footsteps as he listens to Harry continue to speak out in the hallway, loudly and expressively.

“You _knew._ You know _now_ , but even back _then_ you knew!” Harry exclaims, his voice harsh and cutting as Louis looks down at his shoes and chews on the inside of his cheek.  “You fucking knew how I felt, yet you just let me suffer—“

“Maybe not everyone is like you, okay?” Louis snaps, now having stalked out of his parents' room as he moves determinedly in order to come face to face with Harry.  The man crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall in the hallway in response to only the beginning of Louis' outburst.

“Not everything is just so fucking _easy_ like it is for you, and we can all just fucking do what we want, wave around peace signs, and act _however_ without thinking,” Louis nearly hisses, his eyes like daggers as they pierce Harry.  He can already feel it coming back to him—that exact energy he’d had right outside of Harry’s hotel room when the man had pushed him by simply implying their distance was _his_ fault.

He can feel some commotion in his tear ducts but he’s trying his best to contain it.  He’s failing in terms of keeping the shakiness out of his harsh voice, however.

“Not everything is so fucking _easy_ , Harry!” he yells, the thunderous nature of his voice echoing pretty much throughout the entire house.  “So stop acting like it is.”

Harry seems to be finally quieted as he takes his bottom lip in his mouth, Louis continuing to breathe harshly through his nose as he keeps his emotion inside, despite feeling as though he’s about to erupt with it. 

He stares at the man, his brows creased and his breaths uneven as he wonders why it can’t be easy.  Why he can’t just allow himself to fall into the green lakes of his eyes, immerse himself in the valley of his hair, and just fucking throw himself into the red pillows that are his lips.

He blinks tears away prematurely, wondering why it’s so fucking _hard_.

He sniffles once, preparing to move past Harry because of how it’s now becoming too much to simply stand in front of him.

“I knew this was a bad idea—“

He doesn’t even get to walk away with one step before Harry’s hand is placed against the side of his neck and their lips are coming together powerfully, Louis becoming pressed against the wall of the hallway in the second it takes him to breathe.

Louis cooperates with it in less than a second, as though whatever he’d been saying right before this has dissolved into the air and become completely irrelevant, his fingers finding a home in Harry’s hair as he buries them into it, his body giving into the fact that Harry’s strong arm is tugging at his waist and bringing their bodies flush against each other.  The push and pull of their lips is fast-paced, intense, and almost _needy_ as both of their hands move quickly over one another’s bodies, as though they can’t decide on where they want to grab.

Only brief, fleeting seconds are used to actually breathe as their lips engulf one another, Louis’ head beginning to feel as though it’s spinning with stimulation with every pull of his body against Harry’s.  He’s pressed so harshly into the wall it almost hurts, but the sensation of his finger tips splayed over Harry’s jaw and his own hair being gently tugged at outweighs the pain.

There’s a faraway plead in his head, begging him to put an end to this immediately, but the bigger, more prominent plead in his head is urging him to go on, to get closer, to just keep _going_ because there’s nothing stopping him.  That’s the problem right now—nothing is stopping him; no one to interrupt, no immediate goodbyes, no dissappointed looks, all he has is his lips burning against Harry’s and a crippling desire to keep going.  The fact that no one’s here to stop him somehow adds to the rush, giving Louis an exhilaration he’s never experienced before.

He’s not even aware of how they’re actively traveling as their lips stay attached until he hears the doorknob twist behind him as it seems Harry’s reaching for it.

Louis’ frail, almost trembling fingers are gripping onto Harry’s jacket with an unprecedented amount of need once they’re stumbling into his old bedroom, and he hears the door swing shut behind them, leaving the two alone.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **trigger warning:** domestic violence  & a homophobic slur
> 
> this chapter is long
> 
> this chapter is great though! one of my favorites

 

 

Harry keeps his eyes positioned upward in order to study the faint patterns on the ceiling, although it’s been quite difficult to do so for a while, since the sun hasn’t come up and it’s still dark all around

He hasn’t shut his eyes even once, knowing there’s no use in attempting to sleep.

He’s sat in one of the chairs situated near the dresser in the hotel room, his head simply rested back as he reclines against it and his ears plugged with his headphones as he plays Louis’ song over and over.  And over.

He shifts his head only slightly in order to glance at the digital clock on top of the dresser, and it reads 3:03 am.

He then shifts his head some more, his eyes falling upon the empty hotel bed just a few feet away from him.

He brings his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through it and ruffling it up with stress for probably the hundredth time in the last hour.

He would love for the man to come waltzing in here already so that Harry can just go ahead and get it over with, instead of growing anxious about doing _it_ with every passing second he spends in this room alone.

He slides his socks over the carpeted floor of the room, reclining even further in his seat as he settles against it and rests his head back again. 

He feels both drained and fulfilled.

He feels drained every time he looks over to the bed and remembers that Caleb isn’t here, and even more so when he remembers that Caleb is _eventually_ going to be here, because they’re together.  They’re a couple, and that’s the way it’s been for a long time now.

He’s not sure why though.

He feels fulfilled, because…Louis.  That’s the only way he can describe his fulfillment right now—the pure sound of the man’s name should get the point across.  It’s just _Louis_ and the way he is and the way he feels and the way he speaks and the way he touches him and the way he _kisses_ him even when he’s not drunk and Harry’s heart rate is picking up just thinking about it.  He’s _positive_ he’s never felt this way about anyone before.

He can feel a corner of his lips threatening to curve upward, and he lets it happen for a while as he reflects on the night they’d had, but then he lets it fall once he forces himself to reflect on how they had to depart again.  Because Harry had to come back here, and Louis had to go back to his family, and in the real world, they’re not a thing. 

The thought of it stings Harry everywhere for just a while, the fact that they’re not a thing. 

Why can’t they be?

It’s obvious they both care about each other deeply, and Harry’s not sure about _Louis_ yet, but he knows for a fact that he, himself, hadn’t felt whole during all the years they spent apart, and that’s because the missing piece was Louis.  The man isn’t quite _there_ yet in terms of properly organizing and communicating his emotions, but Harry understands why, and he’ll wait until the end of time for him to get it.  He’ll wait for this.

The song starts over in his ears and he feels as though his heart is swelling with every eight count.

He didn’t know it was possible to be blissfully in love and abundantly exasperated at the same time, yet here he is.

He knew he should’ve never started with Caleb.  He’d known he was settling from the start, but he didn’t believe he would find anyone better.  He almost didn’t think he deserved anyone better.

But now, he refuses to settle.  Not when Louis is right there, within his _reach,_ and all that Harry has been dreaming about since he was twenty-two.

He doesn’t know how, but he’s going to get it right this time.  He’s not leaving until everything is just…right.  He’s not exactly sure what that means yet, but he’ll figure it out.

The door to the hotel room is gently twisted open when the hour is almost halfway through and Harry has transitioned from repeatedly listening to the same song and instead chosen to relish in silence while he still has it. Harry barely even stirs as he keeps his head reclined against the chair, his eyes continuously dazed and blinking at the ceiling.

The first thing he hears is Caleb snickering before flicking on the light, which Harry _does_ react to as his eyes squint to a small degree.

“Are you having an emo moment?” Caleb asks, Harry feeling the man’s eyes on him as he laughs.  “What is this?”

Harry doesn’t move much, just drifts his eyes over in order to meet Caleb, drawing in a calming breath.

The calm, stern edge to his gaze seems to affect Caleb a bit as his smile falters, his steps slowing as he tosses his room key onto the dresser and leaves the door cracked open behind him.  “What’s up, babe?”

“I can’t do this with you anymore.”

There’s a fully expected silence for a moment as Caleb seems to process his words, the man still stood a mere three feet away from where Harry sits as his fingers begin to stroke at the stubble on his chin.

“What do you mean?” he asks, chuckling only faintly as he seems to convince himself this is some sort of joke.

“I mean I’m done with this,” Harry replies, his eyes unmoving in order to convey how serious he is.  “I’m done with you.”

Caleb scoffs as he laughs some more, turning on his heel with amusement before rotating back toward Harry, his smile almost manic.  “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from me,” Harry answers easily.  “Not wanting to be in this relationship anymore.”

Caleb brings his hands up to his head with disbelief as his eyes close for a few seconds.  “Harry, honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you since we’ve taken this trip, but I want it to stop.  _Now_ ,” he says, his voice steadily rising.  “What the _fuck_ has gotten into you?”

Harry grows defensive as he sits up just a little.  “Nothing.  I just—“

“What, is this because of Louis?” Caleb asks, his tone aggressive and nearly paralyzing as he sinks his hard gaze into Harry’s ambivalent one.  “Are you cheating on me with him?  Is that what this is about?”

“You’re coming in at three in the morning and you’re asking if _I’m_ cheating?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“What the fuck are you trying to say?” Caleb just about growls, putting an end to the space between them as he steps forward with determined feet until he’s practically towering over Harry.

Harry’s fingers grip at both armrests fiercely as he looks up at him, beginning to feel his chest tighten bit by bit as he literally allows himself to be _glowered_ at.

He breathes in lightly through his nose as they maintain eye contact.  “I’m not scared of you.”

He can see Caleb’s Adam’s apple bob as he keeps his jaw tight, and the tension in the hotel room grows astronomically thick.

Then Caleb sighs, easing up just a bit as he rolls his eyes, before turning away in order to shrug off his jacket.  “Let’s just do this when your head’s cleared,” he says dismissively, back turned to Harry.  “You’re probably drunk for all I know.”

“I’m not drunk, and you know it,” Harry replies (although he did have _one_ tiny drink downstairs, just so he could shake himself up enough to actually do this). 

He’s now completely sat up in his chair as he watches Caleb just _continue_ as though none of this is going on right now, even moving to slip off his shoes. 

“Caleb, I don’t want to be with you—“

“Who _do_ you want to be with, then?” the man shouts, his eyes shooting up from where they’d been concentrated on his shoes.  “You think anyone else is gonna wanna be with you?  There isn’t another person on this _earth_ who would put up with your whiny ass like I have.”

Harry draws in another breath, although it quivers mildly as increased amounts of fire, aggravation, and pure fucking _infuriation_ begin to enter his being.

“You better just take what you get,” Caleb mutters, kicking off his second shoe as his nostrils flare at Harry.  “Because you’ll never find anyone else that gives a shit—“

“ _No!_ ” Harry shouts, his face nearly going red with it as he hears his word echo throughout the room, knowing that one margarita he’d helped himself to is definitely the cause of this brave outburst.

Everything stops for a moment, and Harry knows he’s done it now as Caleb quiets completely, his eyes dimmed out and rough around the edges as though Harry has set off a flame within him.

Caleb gets up from where he’d been settled comfortably in the bed and rises to his feet, Harry scooting back just an inch in his chair as their eyes remain linked.

“What did I say about raising your voice at me?”

Harry keeps his mouth sealed shut, intent to portray how fearless he is despite the churning of his stomach and the dryness of his throat.

“Hmm?” Caleb urges, still waiting for his answer as he steps forward.  His words are threateningly calm as he utters them.  “What did I say, Harry?”

If Harry even _was_ getting ready to offer an answer, his words are cut off when Caleb’s hand is quickly coming down to grip his forearm, the tightness of his fist whitening the skin of Harry’s arm around it as he yanks the man to his feet and walks him backward until he’s viciously ran into the wall.

“Stop,” Harry breathes, Caleb’s forehead pressed against his temple as Harry attempts to turn his face away.

“Say it again,” Caleb mutters, his fingers digging relentlessly into his flesh as he jerks Harry forward.  “Say it again.”

“You’re hurting me,” Harry breathes, before biting down on his bottom lip as he starts to experience the beginnings of both pain and fear.

“You seemed so brave and loud then, so what happened?” Caleb growls, his mouth close against Harry’s cheek.  His free hand reaches toward dresser, and all Harry can hear as he squeezes his eyes shut is the sound of the man harshly smacking away the mug that rests on top of it, the treacherous sound of it shattering against the wall piercing Harry’s ears.

“Let _go_ of me!” he pleads, the tears budding in his ducts as he fruitlessly tries to wrench his arm away.

It appears Caleb’s eyes go even more unhinged in reaction to Harry raising his voice again, and even though he didn’t know it were possible, the man’s grip on Harry tightens further, his hold even beginning to vibrate with how stiff it is and sufficiently bringing Harry to feel hopeless and defeated.

The door to their hotel room being pushed open seems to avert Caleb’s attention as he finally lets go of Harry and turns toward it, and there are less than two seconds between Zayn letting himself into the room and Zayn taking swift footsteps in order to meet Caleb, his eyes almost sleepy as he wears pajama pants and one of Liam’s giant hoodies.

“Zayn—“ Caleb starts, turning to acknowledge the man, but getting rapidly cut off by Zayn simply placing both hands against his jaw and near his neck, not exerting any force to it whatsoever as he appears to be caressing his pressure points and bringing their foreheads together.  Harry takes several unbalanced steps backward, both bewildered by whatever’s going on and relieved at finally having an escape as his breath goes heavy.

Zayn just continues to keep his hands where they are, and Harry doesn’t know what’s _happening_ —

That is, until Caleb eventually passes out, his eyes falling closed as he goes limp and Zayn gently catches him in his arms.

Harry’s eyes have never been more dilated and huge as he watches the man let out a gratified sigh, his arms keeping Caleb held somewhat upright.

“What…the _fuck_ ,” Harry breathes. 

He’s seriously beginning to wonder if a simple breakup may be turning into something that can send him to prison for an eternity as he stares at a completely unconscious, droopy Caleb.  He feels it would be fitting, sending him to jail, because right now, as Harry’s staring at the man while Zayn clumsily sets him against the bed, he feels sort of…good.  Great, even.

“Just a little quieting technique,” Zayn says softly, patting Caleb on the head before walking up to Harry and taking his hand.  “Should be knocked out for just a bit, so we should definitely go.”

Harry’s not able to properly think as he’s being pulled out of the room, looking over his shoulder briefly as Caleb remains motionless on the bed after having been seconds away from beating him to a pulp.

He feels nothing and everything all at once as he's deliriously following behind Zayn across the dimmed hallway of the hotel floor, and suddenly he begins to sense flecks of nausea settling within him.  From what, he doesn't know.

“Zayn,” Harry whispers once they’re just a foot away from the open hotel suite across the hall.  He doesn’t mean to whisper, but he guesses his voice is just _that_ weak and refuses to produce sound.

Zayn pauses where he has one hand out in order to push the door open, staring back at Harry as he continues to hold one of his hands.

Harry doesn’t even know why he had called him.  He'd just gotten a sudden urge to call someone.  He needs _someone_.  He needs something, and he’s scared, and he doesn’t know what he’s _doing,_ or why he’s allowed his life to crumble so badly and—

He simply breaks down.

He’s already sniffling before the tears come out, and only a few seconds go by before he can’t see anything through the blur of wetness.  He’s only aware of everything going on around him because of what he feels rather than what he sees, which is why he immediately sinks into it when Zayn hugs him, wrapping comforting arms around his back and stroking gently at his spine as Harry continues to shake and choke and grasp at him.

“It’s okay, Harry,” he hears the man murmur into his ear, one of his hands moving to stroke up and down Harry’s arm.

Harry sniffles some more, even beginning to hiccup every now and then once Zayn is pulling back and leading him into the hotel suite, their hands still attached.

They settle on the central couch in the main area of the suite, everything dark and quiet as it becomes clear the others are still asleep.  This is the only thing that causes Harry to try his best at keeping his cries at low volume as he fits himself against Zayn on the couch, continuing to bury his sobs into his shoulder and easing into the man's palm against his back.

“What am I doing?” he breathes, followed by a faint hiccup.  “I—I thought I had everything figured out—“

Zayn shushes him soothingly, his fingers not letting up as they continue to caress Harry’s back, the man obviously not giving a single care as to how wet the shoulder of his hoodie is getting due to Harry’s never-ending fountain of tears.

It seems Zayn’s gentle shushing noises, the tranquility of his hands, and the comfort of just being near someone who _cares_ lulls Harry, because before he knows it, he’s actually closing his eyes and going still as he falls asleep.

Harry wakes up alone, which isn’t surprising.

It also isn’t upsetting, because Zayn had probably figured that since he was finally asleep and done with crying like a three year old about mistakes in his life he should be held responsible for, he had to get back to his boyfriend, and their happy relationship, and the nice, warm bed they share.

He keeps his eyes gently shut several minutes after he becomes aware that he’s awake, simply because he doesn’t want to face real life yet.  He isn’t ready.

He has no idea of what time it is, but he figures it’s well past morning, because he can hear someone in the mini kitchen of the suite turning the sink on and off in a way that’s mildly irritating.

He guesses it could only be Liam, because who _else_ does shit like that?

He’s proven correct when he hears footsteps coming by the couch that abruptly pause, making it evident that someone's just noticed Harry’s laying there.

“Do you want breakfast?” Harry hears Liam ask, the man sounding as though he’s leaned against the couch.

Harry shakes his head, turning his face in order to become one with the couch cushion as he shies away from the world.

He guesses that’s Liam’s way of asking if he’s okay, since the man had never really been good with consoling.  That’s one of the few ways in which he’s similar to Niall.

Harry’s eyes feel puffy, his head is throbbing, he even feels sweaty from how long he’s been pressed into the couch, and he just wants everything to go away.

Obviously, it doesn’t seem as though he’s getting this wish as he hears Liam come in closer, the couch definitely moving as he rests against it.

“Your boyfriend left,” he says quietly.  “Finally.”

This is what brings about some kind of reaction out of Harry as his lip quirks upward for half a second, because it’s common knowledge, the fact that Liam had never really liked the man.

“He threw your stuff out before he left though,” Liam continues, which kills whatever light had been spreading upon Harry’s face.  “It was like all _over_ the place, up and down the hall—your clothes, shoes, shampoo, I even think I saw your broken headphones—“

“I get it Liam,” Harry says with a sigh, his eyes still rested as he raises both eyebrows.

“We brought it in, though,” Liam adds, which is what finally causes Harry to open his eyes to mere slits.  It seems Liam takes notice of this as he grins down at Harry, gesturing to the left where Harry assumes his stuff is.

Harry sits up a tad, taking notice of where Liam is motioning, and yep.  There it is.  His stuff is shoved gracelessly against the wall near the door, everything piled over the other as though it’d been done in under five minutes.  Harry allows himself to genuinely grin in response to the thoughtful gesture.  It looks messy, but it’s thoughtful nonetheless.

“Always knew you could do better,” is the last thing Liam says before pushing himself away from the couch and making his way elsewhere.

Harry feels strangely touched as he settles his head back against the armrest, getting comfortable and attempting to ignore the pounding in his head as the result of a good cry.

He’s allowed some more silence as it seems Liam disappears into his bedroom, and all he can do is think. 

Oddly enough, Louis is on his mind more than Caleb.

He wonders what the man is doing right now.

He imagines he’s probably eating breakfast—or better yet, _cooking_ breakfast, which is something he apparently does, which had sent Harry’s insides swirling as he watched him from just a few feet away in the kitchen.  He’s probably making chocolate chip pancakes and letting Mack eat all the chocolate chips she wants—which sends Harry’s mind into a lovesick frenzy, thinking about how cute Louis is with Mack.  How much the little girl admires him, and how that’s understandable because of how charming and sweet and positively amazing the man is.

Harry is in love with him.  He really is, and it’s a shame it took him this long to find out.

But the thought only makes everything hurt more, because it just reminds Harry that he possesses no idea of how the man feels.  Harry had made plans to end it with Caleb for the sole purpose of Louis, and he doesn’t even know if the man _likes_ him.

That’s kind of sad, now that he thinks about it.  It took traveling thirteen hours and having Louis smile at him again for Harry to realize he needed to break it off with an abusive, narcissistic jerk.

Elizabeth _had_ said those _things_ that night, about Louis saying certain _phrases_ after they’d kissed for the first time, and Harry’s still skeptical about the trueness of it, which is why he remains in a gray area right now.  Even if it _were_ true, there’s no telling if the man still feels the same way.  _Centuries_ have passed; he’s probably flown through several relationships between now and then, met new people, and definitely isn’t still standing outside of Harry’s old apartment.  Harry is, though.  He’s still standing there.  The feelings he’d possessed in that exact moment are still here, and they’re louder than ever.

“You’re _awake_ ,” Harry hears, slicing through his running thoughts as he feels arms come around to hug him tightly from behind, pulling him close to a foreign chest.

“Oh my _God_ dude,” he hears Niall say into his ear, even though it sounds more like a shout with how close they are as the man gives him one last squeeze.  “I—I’m so _sorry_.  I didn’t know Caleb was like that.”

Harry brings his knees up closer to himself in order to make space for Niall as the man comes over to sit on the other side of the couch, his hair mussed from sleep and his shirt with a gaping tear down the sleeve that Harry’s been telling him to let go of since freshman year of college.

Harry’s eyes are lidded and downcast as he shakes his head once.  “It’s fine—“

“No it’s not,” Niall replies, bringing his joined hands up to his lips.  “I didn’t know stuff like that was going on between you guys, and—I’ve been so cool with him all this time, _fuck_.”

“Niall, stop,” Harry says, a millisecond away from begging.  “He’d never been that… _physical_ before,” he continues, carefully choosing his words.  “That was the first time.”

“But I know he’s been _aggressive_ , or else it never would’ve progressed this far,” Niall replies, shaking his head vigorously, as though thoroughly disappointed in himself.  “Fuck.  I should’ve known.”

Harry stays quiet, not knowing why the man’s serious reaction to everything is beginning to bring mounds of emotions to make their return.  It’s just that Harry feels so shitty and useless, getting everyone involved in this and sufficiently draining everything of whatever joyful mood it had once possessed.

Niall turns to Harry once he’s done stressfully rubbing his hands up and down his face and through his hair.  “ _Why_ would you stay—wait _no_ ,” he turns away, now speaking to himself.  “I’m not supposed to ask you that.  I learned that…somewhere.  I forgot where though.”

Harry draws in a breath through his nose as he bites down on the corner of his bottom lip, gradually dissociating as Niall continues to openly worry about it and think deeply about how everything could've been prevented.

"You want me to kick his ass?" the man asks.  "I could totally kick his ass."

Harry couldn't be more against that, especially since Caleb's probably already preparing to file a lawsuit after Zayn had used his weird, secret ability to make people faint on him.  Harry can't bring himself to voice how much he  _doesn't_ want Niall to kick the man's ass, however, because it seems his mouth is growing a mind of its own, and it utters the first thing it wants to utter, without even filtering the words through his brain, throat, and tongue.

“I love him,” Harry blurts, although his voice is calm and certain when he says it.

Niall looks at him once again, a slow turn of his body as he takes in what Harry’s said and his eyes begin to bear heaps of confusion.

“I’m in love with him,” he repeats, his eyes blank as he looks past Niall and over at nothing.

“Harry…it’s not healthy to be in love with—“

“I’m talking about _Louis_ ,” Harry says, the emotion already beginning to build in his eyes as he swallows.  “I’m in love with _Louis_.”

Niall’s face falls into an expression of empty bewilderment as Harry rubs at his nose, not knowing if the tears filling his eyes are happy or sad ones.

“Harry…” Niall merely breathes, as though he’s not sure of what to say.  The look on his face almost screams frustration at the fact that Harry still hasn’t gotten over the man, but if one looks closely, it could also be a face of relief at how Harry has _finally_ accepted this and stopped mucking around.

“I have to tell him,” Harry says, sitting up some more as he gets a sudden urge to move quickly, as though time is slipping away.

“Harry, are you sure—“

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry replies, his stare widening as he wipes hurriedly at his eyes.  “I—I love him and I’m gonna let him know whether he feels the same way or not—whether it’ll amount to anything or not, and—“

“Shower first,” he hears Liam say from the mini kitchen once again, and both of their eyes dart toward him out of shock, since they hadn’t even known he’d been there.  He’s wiping down the surface of the counter with a disinfectant wipe, speaking halfheartedly as they blink at him.  “It bugs me when people don’t shower before they leave in the morning.”

Niall stifles a chuckle into his hand as he leans forward, Harry making a face at the man as he pushes himself away from the couch.

“I’m glad you’re worried about the things that matter,” Harry tells him as he walks past the man and toward his untidy pile of belongings in the corner of the room, because…he probably _should_ shower, since he’s going to be courting Louis and all, and he definitely wants to be smelling nicely for such a grand event.

 

~*~

 

Harry’s standing in front of Louis’ door, and as many times as he’s done this by now, one would think he would stop being nervous about it.

He’s not though.  In fact, his nerves are even _more_ abundant than usual because of why he’s here right now and what he’s about to do.

And the nerves because of _that_ are _endlessly_ abundant because he’d made the spontaneous, cheesy choice of stopping at one of the flower carts he’d passed on the streets on the way here, which is why he’s dumbly holding a single blue orchid in his right hand as his left lingers in the air near the surface of the door.

He looks down at the vibrant flower, feeling thoroughly ridiculous, while also feeling gratified, because the petals match the man’s eye color _perfectly_.  If Louis isn’t as amazed by Harry’s flower-picking ability as Harry is himself, maybe he’s not the one.

But that can’t be true, because he _is_ the one.  Harry has spent much time pondering this statement—both during this trip and over the course of the last five years.  No one else has ever made him feel quite the way he feels when he’s with Louis, and although he’s done a lot of questionable shit, one thing he doesn’t do is ignore the universe’s signs, especially when they are persistent.  Louis _is_ the one, and Harry’s not leaving until he lets him know it, damn it.

The pure motivation that rushes through him as he thinks about it is what brings him to push his finger against the man’s doorbell with certainty and confidence.

And all that certainty and confidence is lost once the door opens and he’s met with a toweringly tall man with gray hair and a strong facial structure.

Harry’s looking _up_ , which is something he’d thought he’d never have to do again after dumping Caleb.

“Who are you?” he asks, and—his voice is _deep_.  It almost _vibrates_.

As Harry’s eyes are shifting down in order to study the lapels on the pristine _suit_ he’s wearing, his gaze falls upon Louis, the man many feet behind him as he seems to be prying something out of Mack’s hands and taking slow notice of Harry as well.  It doesn’t take long for his expression to shift from one of blank curiosity to borderline fear and apprehension, probably because he doesn’t know why Harry’s here and what he’s going to do, and all this does is add to the mess of nerves that Harry’s already standing on top of.

“I’m…” Harry begins, clearly stammering.  “I’m Harry, and—“

Suddenly, a lady appears, coming up next to Louis’ father and absolutely blocking whatever view Harry had of the man.  With one look at that wholesome smile and those sincere eyes, Harry knows this is his mother.

She puts two hands to her chest as her eyes twinkle at the orchid.  “Is that for Elizabeth?”

Harry’s mouth is slightly agape as he looks down at it, feeling as though he’s burning under all of this undivided attention and sudden pressure.

He thinks of Louis, and the man’s widened eyes from before his mother had come and blocked their view.  He thinks of what Elizabeth had told him about their father.

“Yeah,” Harry says, forcing a grin onto his lips as he brings his eyes up to the woman.  “For good luck.”

She coos with endearment, taking the blue thing out of Harry’s hand briskly.  “I’ll put it in water.  She’s not here right now, but she’ll _love_ it.”  It appears all of her interest is averted as she rushes away, and Harry feels a speck of relief before he becomes once again aware of the tall man in front of him with glaring eyes.

“You still haven’t told me who you are.”

“Oh—I’m a friend of Louis’,” Harry explains meekly, pressing the pads of his fingers together.

Louis’ now walking up to the door, right to Harry’s rescue as he sets a hand on his father’s shoulder.  “Yep, he is,” he says, before setting his eyes on Harry.  “Come in.”

Harry hesitantly makes his way past the man, offering him a cordial and nervous nod as he enters.

Louis leads Harry through the hallway and past the living room, the man probably picking up on the fact that Harry’s come to actually talk about something.

Or maybe Louis needs to talk to _him_ about something.  The plot thickens.

“Have I met you before?” his mother suddenly pipes up, just as they’re making their way past the couch she’s on.  There's a miniature glass jar in her lap as she sets the aesthetically pleasing flower inside of it.

“Uh—no,” Harry says, smoothing a hand down the back of his neck as their walking slows.

“You sure?” she asks, her nose scrunching with concentration as Louis sighs.  “You look awfully familiar.  Were you in a commercial as a child or something?”

Harry giggles, shaking his head as he gives into Louis subtly pulling at his shirt, attempting to get him to continue in the direction he wants them to go.  “Not to my knowledge,” he replies with a shake of his head.  He only gets to utter one last response before they’re out of the living room and nearing the back of the house.  “Probably have me mixed up with someone else.”

The only thing he hears before he’s out of earshot is a skeptical “hmm” from the woman.

Harry finally turns his attention toward where he’s actually being _led_ to, and he finds that Louis’ in front of him, pushing a door open that Harry hadn’t even known existed, letting them into what looks like a small, cozy outside balcony at the back of his condo.

There are two simple, white and sky blue striped deck chairs out there, Louis sitting himself down in one of them and looking up at Harry with that warm grin and those innocent eyes, inviting him without saying a word.

The wood creaks underneath Harry’s shoes as he walks over in order to grip at the chair, before sliding it over quite noisily and completely getting rid of the foot long distance it had been situated from Louis’ chair, smugly grinning at the man through all of it.

“It was nice of you…” Louis begins, his voice tender as Harry sits down next to him.  “Bringing Elizabeth that little gift.”

“It wasn’t for her,” Harry replies.

“I know.”

Harry can’t help the both of his dimples showing as he grows amused, mostly because Louis’ facial expression hasn’t dropped even slightly from its bright, happy state.  He’s biting on his pinky nail in order to hide it, but Harry knows this man like the back of his hand, and for whatever reason, he’s outrageously content right now.

“Thank you,” Louis adds, his voice nearing a whisper.  “It looked pretty, from the few angles I saw it from.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replies, his grin now uncontrollable as everything begins to just feel warmer.  Maybe it’s the sun gracing Louis’ face, or the sight of the man in that white fuzzy sweater, or maybe it’s just Harry’s insides.

“How’s your morning?” Harry asks, suddenly becoming quiet and blushy, his mind going as clouded as the sky above them as he forgets whatever he’d come here for.

“Stressful,” Louis replies, resting his hair in his fist as he leans in his seat.  “Yours?”

“If three a.m. counts as morning, then,” Harry begins, sighing.  “Beyond stressful.”

One of Louis’ eyebrows come up as he looks at him.  “What happened at three a.m.?”

Harry’s dimples disappear for only a moment, the man already beginning to feel dread at simply thinking about it.  “Nothing—“ he begins, before shaking his head, because relationships start with _honesty_ , duh.  “ _Something_.But I’ll tell you later.”

“Promise?” Louis asks.

Harry nods thoroughly, pressing his lips together and allowing his dimples to appear once again in response to Louis’ genuine concern.

There’s a gentle silence as they sit there, Louis’ mouth now buried in the fuzzy sleeve of his sweatshirt that extends well past his hand, his hair blowing subtly as the barely-there wind attempts to alleviate them.

“You know…” Harry begins, his eyes drifting forward as he prepares his words.  “I don’t have it easy.”  His laugh is as light and velvety as the air when he speaks.  “Like, at all.”

Louis’ eyes come to him once again, just watching as it seems he’s waiting for Harry to elaborate.

Harry furrows his eyebrows at a particularly darkened spot of the wood down below, his lips parted.  “My…my mother doesn’t talk to me,” he says, his voice frail and on the verge of breaking.  “Not unless it’s happy birthday or happy new year, or any of those other holidays.  Other than that, it’s _you’re on your own and I could care less if you survive or not,_ you know?” Harry says, his eyes feeling once again heavy (crying three times in less than twelve hours? a record) as he brings them back up to Louis. 

The man is listening attentively, half of his face still buried in the material of his sweater as his eyes stare unblinkingly at him, Harry growing certain he’s never felt the sincere attention of another human as much as he feels it right now.

“She was so happy when I got the internship.  I’d finally redeemed myself after getting all those F’s in high school,” Harry chuckles, sniffling only once.  “Which was why everything crashed so badly when I changed my mind about who I wanted to be—who _she_ wanted me to be, and just did my own thing.  It also doesn’t help that I’m gay.”  He laughs some more, feeling Louis’ hand reach out to touch his arm, placing it there for comfort.  “I’m pretty sure it was the icing on top of a horrible son, me coming out and all.”

“You’re not a horrible son,” Louis says.  “She should be lucky to have you.”

Harry nods, wiping at his eyes although nothing has fallen yet.  “It took me _years_ to believe that, actually,” Harry says weakly.   “Spent so much time beating myself up, wondering why I can’t live up to any expectations, why I’m so stupid—in especially hard times, I even wished I was straight.

“But there’s not much more to that,” Harry says.  “There’s no happy ending to me and my mum, really.  Just wanted to let you know that I don’t have it easy.”

He locks eyes with Louis, the man’s gaze just as unmoving and focused as it’d been throughout Harry’s entire speech.

“We both don’t have it easy, and that’s okay,” Harry tells him, a grin poking at his lips as he nods.

Louis blinks slowly, seemingly calmed into quietness as they gaze at each other, completely ignoring the sound of the door being opened as it seems Mack kicks a ball onto the balcony.

“I wish that internship never happened,” Harry laughs, bringing a positive curve upon Louis’ lips in response.

“Me too,” he replies, the words muffled into his hand.

“At the time you acted like you were fine with it, though,” Harry says softly, their eyes still glued.

“I mean—I _was_ ,” Louis replies, finally letting his head down as he picks at the tied string on his pants, their eye contact now broken.  “At first I was, but then…I dunno, I started not to like it so much.”  His tone is growing quieter with every second, as though he doesn’t want Harry to hear.  “I didn’t _truly_ realize how much I didn’t want it to happen until the very last second.”

“Why didn’t you want it to happen?”

Louis purses his lips as he appears to be placing his frustration on the cotton sweatpants that he continues to pick at.  “It wasn’t because you got it and not me,” the man says, letting go of his frustration as he laughs just a bit, right before getting agitated again.  “It was because you were leaving me.”

Harry lets the silence linger for a moment as he continues to observe the wind dancing through the man’s hair and the background noises of Mack kicking her bouncy ball around.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Louis?” Harry asks, whispering.  “You should’ve said something.  I would’ve stayed without even thinking twice.”

“Because I wasn’t _sure_ ,” Louis replies, his voice low and matching Harry’s.  “I didn’t want to feel _this_ ,” he says, motioning at himself as he continues to wear that blatant frustration on his face.  “I didn’t want to have to face it—voice it out loud, the fact that I can’t be without you…and I’m just still not sure.”

Harry’s eyebrows crease just a hint as he unconsciously grips at the bottom of his seat.  “You’re not sure if you have feelings for me?”

There’s more silence, save for Mack giggling delightedly as she accidentally kicks the ball under Louis’ chair and skips all the way over to it excitedly.

Harry’s hanging onto the man’s every movement, blink, breath, and gaze.  This is the official moment, he guesses.  The moment that will either push Harry towards saying the three words or repel him completely.

“No—no, I _do_ ,” the man says.  “I know I do.”

Instantly, Harry feels a thousand times lighter.  He even feels _younger_ —twenty-two to be specific.

“But I’m not sure if I wanna get into it right now,” Louis says, his hand going limp in his lap.  “Like…figure out what this means, and all that.”

Just like that, Harry feels older again, and his internal party of celebration is quickly replaced with a funeral.

Louis continues, much to Harry’s dismay.  “I mean, you’ve got _Caleb_ , and—“

“I broke up with him,” Harry swiftly replies, his eyes growing an inch bigger.  “I never really wanted to be with him.  I just settled, because I was accepting the fact that I’d never feel the same with anyone else as I did with you.”

Louis’ eyes come to meet his, Harry swallowing once as he begins to feel more vulnerable with the aging silence.

“Don’t do that Harry,” Louis nearly whispers.  “You…don’t deserve that.  You’re way better than someone who just has to settle.  You’re amazing, and you’re just—just the best person ever, and _please_ don’t—“

“I won’t,” Harry says, breaking all imaginary constraints and reaching his hand out toward Louis, getting it settled into his lap and lacing their fingers together.  Louis allows it to happen, almost instinctually as they become palm to palm, Harry never having known two hands could fit so well.

“I won’t, because I’ll be waiting for you.”

Louis’ lips part as he looks down at their hands, the man taking in a shaky breath as though tears aren’t too far from falling down his cheeks.  “You deserve better than waiting for me."

“You’re worth it,” Harry says, the tears beginning to form within his eyes just as they’re doing Louis’.  “You’re my favorite person in the world.  There’s no one else I wanna be with.  Being with anyone other than you would be settling.”

“Jesus,” Louis breathes, a grin tugging at his lips as he blinks back tears and continues to look away, although keeping an unmoving grip on Harry’s hand.

The man buries his smile into his other hand, attempting to conceal it from Harry as he turns away, but Harry can see him, and the innocent sight of it brings Harry’s tears to be accompanied by a blooming smile.

They remain this way, emotional and conflicted as they sit with their fingers intertwined, Harry feeling both joyful and desolate at the exchange they’ve just had as Mack sits in the corner, on top of the wood as she counts the stars on her bouncy purple ball.

The ease has to come to an end once the balcony door is being pushed open again, and the noise is confirmed to have been heard by the both of them, because shortly after, Harry feels the man’s hand detach from his, leaving his palm cold and alone.

Harry feels even older than before, but he blinks it off as he turns in order to see who had entered.

“Louis, I need your opinion on the shoes I ordered for Mack to wear to the wedding,” says his mother, pointing over her shoulder and into the building as she walks in on them.  “Unless of course, you two are busy…” she begins, somehow having gotten a sense of the mildly intimate environment the balcony now possesses.

Harry sniffles, bracing his hands against the armrests in order to get up to his feet.  “No, I was just getting ready to leave, actually,” he announces, knowing it’s for the best of both of them right now.

“So soon?” she asks, joining her hands together as her eyes grow saddened.

“Yeah.  I figure you guys are busy and stuff,” Harry says, taking notice of Louis getting up right next to him.  “Just wanted to talk to Louis for a moment, is all.”

“Okay dear,” she replies, stepping out of the way as both Harry and Louis move in order to get past her and back into the house.

“I’ll walk you out,” he hears Louis say behind him, the man placing a gentle hand against his back as they walk.

Louis does as he promises as Harry’s led toward the front door, the man’s hand not leaving his back the whole way there as Harry uses it as sort of a therapeutic heating pad.

Louis has a hand braced against the doorframe once Harry’s outside of the condo, a shy smile poking at his lips.  “Let me know if you guys make any plans today.”

“I’m sure they already have,” Harry laughs, stroking at his hair almost nervously.  “They can never stay in place for too long.”

“Tell me about it,” Louis replies with a roll of his eyes, emitting more giggles from Harry.

A few nods are traded between the both of them, Harry nowhere near ready to leave this man as he’s hoping Louis feels the same.

Then, Louis appears to think of something—as if an idea light bulb goes off in his mind, because he takes a step out of his condo, Harry staying put as he watches the man grow near.

He then watches as both of Louis’ hands come up to his face, and he closes his eyes to the feeling of the man’s fingers caressing him, tilting his head forward in order to press a sweet kiss into it.

The heat that has sprung from the contact of Louis’ lips against his forehead hasn’t even fully spread throughout Harry’s body before the man is letting his hands down, backing away with a smile before giving Harry one last nod and letting himself back into his residence.

Every part of Harry’s body is aching with how in love he is with that man.

 

~*~

 

Ice skating.

The activity the rest of them had agreed upon doing today is _ice skating_.

Harry’s not against anything that involves gliding freely over ice and forgetting about his troubles, especially since Louis is joining them.

The thing is, Niall inviting Louis turned into Louis mentioning it to Elizabeth, bringing her to want to come along, which _then_ turned into the girl needing someone to watch Mack, which has now evolved into Louis’ parents coming as well.

Harry doesn’t have a problem with Louis’ parents—he adores the man’s mother even though he hasn’t gotten to know her as much as he would like to, and Louis’ father is…nice.  He seems nice.  Harry’s spoken to him even less than he’s spoken to Louis’ mother, so he doesn’t really think he can pass official judgment.

 _But_ , due to the stuff Elizabeth’s said, just the general way Louis _is_ when he mentions or is around his parents, and Harry’s sudden abundance of paranoia, Harry’s not quite feeling it.  Louis doesn’t seem to be fully _comfortable_ when his entire family is together, which Harry can sense in the way the man has been texting him about what he’s been up to all day.

Because yeah, they’re _texting_.

It’s nothing too heavy; Louis had kissed his forehead in the afternoon, Harry is currently at the ice skating rink at nine p.m. at night, and they’ve been lightly texting back and forth for the several hours in between those two events.

Harry overall feels _good_ about everything.  Louis hasn’t really accepted Harry’s unconditional love yet, but he also hasn’t aggressively shot him down, so everything is just _good_.

It’s not quite back to normal—not all the way, because they still have all that missing time hanging over their heads.  It seems they’re both making an attempt to redeem themselves in that aspect, so Harry figures all is fine for now.

Harry’s on the bench, right on the outskirts of the frosted floor of the rink, tying up the laces on his skates as he sits next to Niall, who also does the same.  Zayn and Liam have already long gotten themselves prepared and are currently gliding over the surface of the ice hand in hand, Zayn’s carefree giggles being heard even from how far away Harry is sitting.

Harry’s eyes move over to where Louis is with his family, Elizabeth urging him to hurry up as he speaks with his parents about something that looks imperative.  His parents don’t look like they have any plans to actually skate, and are instead just going to watch Mack and treat her to the sweets at the snack bar, because (according to what Louis had  _texted_ Harry) the little girl had thrown a huge crying fit over not getting to go to the skating rink with everyone else. 

Harry’s brought out of his observant state once he feels a striking nudge at his shoulder, which causes him to bring his eyes to Niall and his wide smile.

“I’m pumped, are _you_ pumped?”

Harry places an artificial grin on his lips as he nods with low enthusiasm.  “Yeah.”

Niall senses his melancholy mood almost immediately, his face falling and Harry feeling once again responsible for ruining the atmosphere of everything he comes near.

“What’s up?” he asks seriously, resting against his thighs as he gives Harry his attention.

Harry shakes his head, pursing his lips together as he stretches his skate-clad feet out in front of him.  “Nothing.”

“You sure?” Niall asks, his eyes drifting vaguely to the right in order to look at Louis.  “You know, I’m getting better at helping people with heartbreak.”

Harry shakes his head some more, although his dimples are beginning to appear, mostly because he knows the man is only skilled due to all the times he’s had to sit through Harry’s heartbroken moping episodes.

“Okay,” Niall replies gently, keeping his eyes to Harry’s in order to establish the fact that he’s here if he ever wants to talk.  He then breaks out of seriousness and grips a firm hand onto Harry’s bicep, taking him by surprise once he’s off of the ground and pulling him towards the rink with great speed.

“Let’s go then, because you’re boring when you sulk.”

So Harry suppresses a giggle and lets himself be pulled toward the surface, and he only spares one look over his shoulder in order to check on Louis.

Just like he’d figured, he’s still just as good at skating as he'd always been, and it’s almost natural as he mixes himself in with the rest of the boys, attempts to calm his spark of nerves, and tries to enjoy himself.

He succeeds in doing this for a while, and Harry’s mood is even further delighted when he sees that Elizabeth has decided to squeeze Mack into some skates as well and help her around with slow feet—but his relaxation lasts only for as long as it takes for Louis to finally depart from his parents and join them.

When _this_ happens, Harry becomes quite fond of sticking his gloved hands in the pockets of his jacket, immersing himself with the general small scatterings of people also occupying the rink, and taking casual laps.  He’s not exactly sure _why_ ; he just feels uneasy, now that they’ve established this _thing_ and Louis’ parents are right _there_ and the man obviously isn’t comfortable with being all out in the open about whatever it is that’s going on between them.

It’s mostly just Louis and the rest of them for a while, laughing it up every time Louis falls on his ass (which happens quite often).  Harry’s even grateful that Louis laughs it off as well, because even from Harry’s distance as he takes constant laps and weaves in and out of strangers, his falls look pretty painful.

The man’s struggling even gets hard to watch at times, and Harry wants to help him—wants to help him _so_ bad, because all he can think about right now is that night where he’d taught Louis how to roller skate, and they were both tipsy and giggly, and the boy's delicate fingers gripped Harry’s forearms—

Harry furrows his brows, bringing his head up just in time to find that he’s passing by Elizabeth as she continues to crouch against the ground, a beanie taming her wild hair as she holds both of Mack’s hands and leads her around slowly.

Harry brakes next to them, deciding that the best way to resist the desire to go over and aid Louis would be to get engaged with Elizabeth in helping her to teach Mack.  This is much to Mack’s excitement, and her entire face glows once she sees him, which causes Elizabeth to accept his offer of help without even a thought.

He spends a lot of time doing that, and it’s enjoyable, even though he finds that he’s not going to get much luck teaching someone to skate who just learned to walk not too long ago.  It’s still fun though, because every time Mack slips, her laughs only intensify, and her cheeks grow increasingly red, adding to how adorable she already is.  The constant blunders don’t seem to be getting to her.

That is, until they  _do_  get to her.  She lands particularly hard on her elbow and begins wailing with ear-wrenching cries.

The fun seems to be over as Elizabeth scoops the girl up into her arms, giving Harry one last helpless, tired look, before skating away in order to soothe her daughter.

Almost immediately upon shrugging that off and continuing to skate, his gaze falls upon the figure of some person, on the very edge of the rink surface, their head simply rested in their arms as though they’ve given up on everything that pertains to bladed shoes sliding over ice.

Harry gives in, knowing there can’t be any possible harm in at _least_ interacting with him, and that he seriously needs to toughen up.

He comes to a smooth stop by Louis’ head, biting back a grin as he watches the man blink his eyes up at him lazily.

“I see you’ve got the whole skating thing down,” Louis says, his words muffled as he keeps his head buried.

Harry brings out a hand, offering Louis help to get to his feet.  “I see you haven’t.”

Louis narrows his eyes only slightly as he moves in order to take Harry’s hand, and he doesn’t seem as though he’s hesitant or unsure, which is a relief.  Harry figures his own paranoia wasn’t justified in the slightest.

“See?  I was right,” Harry says, lifting the man’s hand in between them as he glides backwards.  “It _is_ ingrained in me.”

“I’m going to prove you wrong someday, I swear,” Louis laughs, his calves shaking faintly as he keeps up with Harry.

“Probably in another lifetime, maybe,” Harry replies, wearing a smug grin.

Louis makes a face at him, as though mockingly displeased by his cockiness.  “Don’t get too full of yourself,” Louis retorts.  “You may be good at _this,_ but you still suck on solid ground.”

Harry parts his lips, Louis almost falling backward before he quickly catches himself by reaching forward in order to grip Harry’s wrist with his other hand.  They are now attached at both arms, but Harry doesn’t make a move to acknowledge it as he continues backward and maintains the carefree banter.

“Excuse _you_ ,” Harry begins, Louis raising his eyebrows at him as he grins.  “I have _not_ tripped and fallen in _years_.”

Louis looks at him boredly, biting the inside of his cheek and clearly showing Harry he’s not buying it at all.

“Months,” Harry corrects himself, his body still growing warmer from Louis’ gloved hands gripping at his hand and wrist.

“Still not convinced…” Louis sings, his head down as he studies his feet.

“Okay _, two_ _weeks_ ,” Harry admits.  “But that’s _only_ because my students did a saran wrap prank on me.”

Louis laughs, his mouth hanging open and his eyes back up and glistening.  “They seriously worked together and did that?”

Harry nods with a hint of shame.  “Yep,” he replies.  “They put it up right in the middle of the doorway and I walked into it.”

Louis’ losing control of his giggles right now, much to Harry’s enjoyment as he just watches the man and feels the cold of the skating rink become nonexistent with every growing inch of his smile. 

The man’s chuckles seem to cause him to go off balance though, and he’s about a second away from tipping backward and viciously becoming one with ground—so Harry moves briskly, one of his hands still grabbing the man’s palm and his other hand coming up behind Louis’ waist as he surges forward. 

He successfully keeps him from falling as he brings him in, although it seems like falling is the least of their worries now that they’re especially close.

“Thanks,” Louis says quietly, their faces so near the man doesn’t even have to raise his voice.

The gentle, innocent way Louis is looking up at him as Harry’s arm stays around his waist and their hands remain joined could almost make Harry faint, if he’s being honest.

Harry remembers what’s happening, where they _are_ , and in an instant, his eyes fly back over to where his parents are situated as he slides backward, creating some distance between them.  Luckily, his mother seems to be thoroughly concentrated on tending to Mack as the girl sits in her lap, and his father is headed toward the general area where the restrooms are.

Harry clears his throat for a reason he’s not sure of, going back to one-handing it with Louis as he continues to speak.  “But—erm…yeah,” Harry begins, attempting to swiftly get back into what they were talking about, even with how disoriented Louis now looks as his cheeks become vaguely scarlet.  “Yeah, my students do stuff like that all the time.  Mostly because I’m the only teacher who won’t send them to the office for doing it.”

Louis laughs, although it’s not as wholehearted and free as the way he’d been laughing before.  “Ah,” Louis replies, moving some of his stray hair out of his face as he continues to be pulled along.  “I feel like I would love them.”

“You _would_ ,” Harry says as he begins to think about it.  “I think they would love you too.”

“I don’t know about that,” Louis replies, pulling a tight grin as he shakes his head.  “I’m not great with kids.  Mack didn’t stop hating me until she was two.”

“Babies don’t like anyone besides their mother before they’re two,” Harry replies, almost incredulously as he becomes vexed at the fact that Louis isn’t aware of his likeable nature.  “You’ve really gotta stop selling yourself short, man.”

“I’m just saying what’s true,” Louis replies, kicking just a bit more off of the ground as Harry pulls him.  “I don’t really just…click with people in general, I think.  It’s probably why my work days are so hard to get through.”

“Don’t give me that,” Harry says, shaking his head as he groans and Louis’ brows drawing together as he stares at him.  “I’ve already told you you’re my favorite person, and there’s a reason behind that.”

“I know.  It’s because you enjoy being around me due to my horrible skating skills, which make you seem superior,” Louis replies, tilting his head at Harry as he presses his lips together amusedly.

Harry nods his head as he narrows his eyes, faking as though he’s taking a second to think about it.  “That’s part of it,” he jokes, to which Louis giggles without holding back.  “I _do_ love pulling you around though,” he says with a smile, lifting the man’s hand high into the air in order to twirl him around, which results in an extremely unprepared Louis who goes unbalanced on his feet as he makes the horribly executed turn.  “See?  It’s fun.”

“You’re evil,” Louis says, still struggling to gain his balance as they continue forward.  “I could’ve died.”

“But you didn’t,” Harry replies, before catching the man off guard (once again) by skating around him, coming right up behind him and placing both hands against his shoulders as he pushes his skates off of the ground and picks up their speed.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

Harry brings himself up close behind the man, speaking softly in order to get the words into his ear.

“But I also just like being close to you,” Harry says.  “Remember the last time we did this?” he asks, his voice growing soft but his words staying nicely pronounced.  “That one night?  I can’t even recall what we were doing running around for hours but I definitely remember this.”

“I remember it being roller skating though,” Louis replies cheekily, although his voice sounds just a tad weaker.

Harry smacks his teeth as he subtly moves only one hand in order to place it against Louis’ waist, slowing them down so that they fall behind everyone else that’s doing steady laps.  “You know what I meant.”

Louis shakes his head as he laughs, stifling it just a bit as though he’s feeling flustered.

“A lot of things are hazy about that night but I remember how good this felt,” Harry says, his voice even lower as he brings himself closer to Louis’ ear.  “Touching you like this.”  He makes a less-subtle point of bringing his other hand down to Louis’ waist, and he takes careful note of the man’s reaction to it.  He doesn’t stir, and from Harry’s angle it seems as though he’s just blinking ahead without focus as they slide so slowly they might as well be stood in place.  “And you were sweaty because we’d been walking all over the place and being restless,” Harry continues.  “Aside from wondering if you’d be the type to pin me against the bed—“

Louis’ head turns toward him, his eyebrows shooting up to the sky as he rotates around in Harry’s arms.

“What?  I wasn’t in a sound state of mind that night,” Harry replies, still keeping his gentle hold on Louis’ waist.  “Aside from _that_ , I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I liked you.  How serious my feelings were getting by the second, and how dangerous I thought it would be in the end.”

They’re in a section of the rink that’s out of view if his parents ever want to look over and see anything, and even though Harry’s aware of this, he hopes Louis isn’t.  He hopes the man is just gazing at him the sweet way he is, leaning into the touch of his palms, and grinning pleasantly because he wants to.  Because he’s being in the moment, and because he’s accepting of the fact that he likes Harry too.

Louis chews on his lip for a moment as they hold each other’s gazes, Harry hanging onto whatever it is he’s going to say, because it seems like it’s going to be _good_ —

Abruptly, they get ran into, causing Harry to lose his balance wildly and Louis to fall powerfully, the man’s feet coming out right underneath him as Harry reaches for his hand.  His hand is too _late_ of course, because even as Louis grips it, he’s on the ground in what looks like agony.

“We’re trying to join the _race_.  Come on,” Niall says, shaking Harry’s arm as he leans his weight against him. 

“Niall, I can hardly even stand up straight,” Louis replies, proving his point as he attempts to get himself back up, mostly with the support of Harry.  “You really expect me to participate in a race?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Niall replies, already sliding up towards the man and hooking his arm around Louis’.  “It’s so much funner to watch when they don’t know how to skate.”

And with that, he hurriedly pulls the man away and out of Harry’s grip, looking over his shoulder briefly in order to yell at Harry, urging him to come on.

Harry lets out a sigh as he places his now chilling hands back into his pockets, before shrugging and deciding it won’t hurt to get involved with a little relay race action.

He’s on his journey to where a slew of skaters are lined up and preparing to take off, but something stops him before he can quite get there.

It’s the sound of his name—the _deep_ sound of his name.

Harry’s head whips to the right in response to it, his movements already slowing as he becomes aware that it had been Louis’ father calling him.

Initially, Harry’s already somewhat unsettled because of the fact that the man remembers his name, but he swallows the discomfort and skates up to him, faking a chill composure as he approaches where the man’s stood a few feet away from the bench Louis’ mother sits at.  He’s situated on the raised platform near the icy floor, simply watching everything as he rests against the railing.

“Yup?” Harry asks, sliding to a stop as they come eye to eye.

“You never explained who you are, what you do,” he says, his brows pulled together and his face not making any attempts at friendliness.

Harry raises his eyebrows briefly as he nods, before going into a monologue about where he’s from, his profession, how he knows Louis (leaving out many details, of course), and he feels as though he’s in the middle of some life-or-death interview as he stutters some of his words.

His father still has an elbow rested on the railing as he scratches at his chin, not offering any response to Harry’s words, although Harry’s not sure he needs to, because his unenthusiastic movements and expressions are saying it all.

“You’re not like his other friends, are you?” he asks, gesturing halfheartedly in the general direction where the rest of them are, Harry looking over his shoulder and finding the men in the distance, both Zayn and Liam helping Louis off the ground as Niall seems to be doubled over in laughter.

“Well…um,” Harry begins, tugging at his earlobe as he struggles to comprehend the question.  “Niall and I are both teachers…”

“No, I mean,” his father starts, followed by a heavy sigh as he brings his gaze back to Harry, his eyes peeking out under his thick brows.  “The _two_ of them.”

Harry’s lips part open as he thinks about it, and he’s ashamed it took him this long to catch on, especially since he’s been having to put up with this kind of implied speech for years now.  He faintly nods his head with understanding, pondering over what route he should take in order to answer this.

“Which two?” he asks, faking cluelessness as he knits his eyebrows.

“The ones who’ve been holding hands since they got here.”

Harry shakes his head animatedly, even letting out a dimwitted giggle as he replies.  “No,” he says.  “I’m not in a relationship.”

The man sighs again, as though Harry’s making this hard, which is understandable.  Because that’s exactly what Harry’s attempting to do right now.

“I just got out of one though,” Harry continues.  “Wasn’t the best experience, if I’m being honest.  Probably because I liked infomercials and they didn’t—“

“Are you queer?”

The question causes Harry to blink himself into silence, because he’d expected him to eventually succumb to being straightforward—but not _that_  straightforward.

Harry opens his mouth with intent to answer the question truthfully, but a new idea crosses his mind at the very last second.

“No, I’m Harry,” he replies, his lips spreading into a crooked grin.

The man seems thoroughly fed up with this as his hand tightens against the railing, but Harry continues to shake his head and blink as though he’s never been this confused in his life.

“I mean, it shouldn’t _matter_ what kind of person I am,” Harry says, getting a spike of courage in response to the man looking slightly defeated.  “Louis is a big boy.  I’m sure he can handle choosing his own friends.”

He’s already backing away by the end of his sentence, and he presses his lips together in a joyful grin as he shrugs his shoulders, before steering himself in order to turn around and join the rest of them on the far other side of the rink.

He feels good about that. 

Actually, he feels _great_ about that.

He doesn’t allow himself to bring his gaze back over to the man for quite a while though; he’s deathly afraid of the fire he’ll probably find behind his eyes.

Harry thinks he did the right thing, because sometimes people need to see how ridiculous they’re being in order to have their personal biases put to an end.  The world didn’t crumble, everybody still seems to be having lots of fun, and everything is fine.  Harry did that, and everything is fine.

Of course, Harry’s also forgotten about how rapidly things can change in one night, however.

The boys are in the middle of attempting to form a functioning chain of skaters, inviting eager strangers and all who will laugh and enjoy this night with them, when Louis abruptly just…leaves.

He skates away, and immediately, Harry separates himself from the crowd of people as he watches the man go all the way over to his parents with his minor (but impressively improved) skating skills, as it seems his father’s getting ready to leave.

Harry’s feet want to carry him forth as he simply watches, but he stops himself and instead keeps his eyes on what looks like Louis questioning why his father’s leaving.

As much as Harry was trying to practice restraint by staying back, he suddenly can’t stand there anymore as whatever the discussion is about seems to become more heated, resulting in even Elizabeth coming over in order to enter herself into the budding argument.  His mother sits close by helplessly as Mack sits next to her and just _watches_ the whole thing, and Harry can’t stay back.

“I just wanted us to have _one_ decent night as a family!” Harry hears Elizabeth scream as he comes nearer.  “Just _one_!”

It's clear their father isn’t listening anymore as he finally moves to leave, which is both fortunate and unfortunate, because Harry’s just now reaching the area outside of the ice and he wasn't sure if he'd wanted to come within such close range of the man again.  He's stepping up onto the platform just as Louis flops down on the nearest bench and puts his head in his hands.

He seems to hear Harry’s approach, because as Harry comes forth, Louis lifts his head a tad, peeking through his hands at the man.

“What did you do?” he asks in a tone so calm it’s intimidating.  “What did you say?”

Harry opens and closes his mouth for a moment, stopping just a few feet shy of Louis as Elizabeth appears to be storming away in his peripheral.  “I—I didn’t—“

“I saw you talking to him,” Louis says, both of his eyes fiercely distressed as he lifts them up to Harry.  “And now he’s suddenly _pissed off!”_

Harry wrinkles his face only slightly as he rubs both of his hands together.  “That doesn’t mean that _I_ did anything.”

“Well, he went off about hating my friends and who I’ve become, and you don’t really know when _not_ to say certain things,” Louis replies, one of his palms set against his forehead as he grows profoundly aggravated.

“I didn’t do anything _wrong_ ,” Harry argues, coming up to Louis and sitting beside him as he pleads his case.  “I just…he was being kind of bigoted and rude, so I set him straight.”

Louis forms the hand that’d been originally pressed against his head into a fist, bringing it to his lips as he becomes even more vexed than before.

“I mean, _someone_ has to let him know he’s being ignorant,” Harry continues, still attempting to justify it as Louis remains mute.  “It seems like he’s gotten so comfortable with referring to your _friends_ as _queers—“_

Louis suddenly moves in order to aggressively get off his skates, angry breaths coming in and out through his nose as Harry watches him without saying another word.

Once Louis gets both of them off and is only left with his socks, he’s out of his seat and storming away, just like Elizabeth had, except he mutters something that Harry can’t hear.

Out of natural instinct, Harry gets up, determined to follow him and end this conflict before it even starts, but he gets stopped by the sound of his name.

Harry turns toward it, his eyes falling upon Zayn as the man remains on the ice, his hands casually placed in the pockets of his joggers as he slides slowly.  “Give him some space, man,” he says, his eyes sincere.  “Just let him be alone to at least think for a bit, okay?”

Harry stands there with a silent mouth for a few seconds, knowing there's obviously a reason behind Zayn telling him this, and that it's probably for the best.  Still, it definitely takes him a while to decide to listen to Zayn as the man simply waits for him with a tiny grin upon his face.

Harry takes a deep breath before giving into Zayn and his lazy beckon for Harry to join him back on the ice.

He’ll leave Louis alone.  For _now._

It’s completely expected, the fact that he can’t allow himself to relax along with the rest of them as he bears the knowledge that Louis has definitely exited the building and gone to who knows _where_.  Because he’s mad at _Harry._

Harry’s certain that anger is probably misplaced.  He knows Harry was right; there’s no _way_ that man hadn’t been wanting to stand up to his father in the way Harry had all his _life_ , which is why he’s upset.  Harry had done it and proved that it _can_ be done—although it’s bittersweet, because now Mack is crying and wondering where her grandfather went, and both Elizabeth and her mother are fighting to cheer her up.

Harry doesn’t know how to feel about that part.

Maybe he should’ve just kept his mouth shut, complied, and proudly identified with an offensive term.  For the sake of this single family night of course.

It’s already been established, though.  Somehow, in the last five days, Harry has successfully earned the title of atmosphere ruiner.

He mostly just leans against the railing and remains on the edge of everything as the rest of them freely enjoy themselves, and he seriously starts to worry about if the man is genuinely mad at him, since half an hour has passed.

Haven’t they been in this rink long enough?  It should probably be time to go by now.

It becomes clear Harry’s not getting that wish anytime soon when some _man_ with a chiseled jawline and an impeccable haircut seems to just pop up, approaching where Elizabeth and her crowd sits with a loud, huge set of heart-shaped balloons and what looks like a large gift basket of some sort.

Harry’s eyes squint as he watches from afar, Elizabeth’s hands flying to her mouth in what looks like ecstatic surprise.

He briefly wonders what’s going on, but his question is quickly answered when Niall breezes past him, nearly knocking him over in the process as he yells “Fuck, Jordan’s here!”

Which—Harry doesn’t know who Jordan is.

This doesn’t seem to be a common feeling among everyone, because eventually, even Zayn and Liam join Niall in the journey across the rink in order to greet the man, and Harry finds himself watching another reunion, full of handshakes and hugs and Niall patting at his shoulder in that violent, friendly way he always does it.

Harry thinks for a second about maybe making his way over as well and introducing himself to what he’s now sure is Elizabeth’s husband as he holds Mack in his arms and the little girl’s squeals can be heard all around.

But…

There isn’t a more perfect time than now to casually slip out, find Louis, and ease him out of whatever funk he’s in, so he takes that opportunity instead.

He successfully gets his skates off after he finds a secluded bench to sit upon, trades them at the window with his shoes, and is out of the building without anyone even turning an eye in his direction.

At first, after maneuvering through the small groups of people that are making their ways _into_ the building as he’s leaving out, he becomes wholly convinced Louis has just left altogether—probably gone all the way back home to his dad in order to comfort him, which hurts.  Just a little.  Harry definitely doesn’t want to imagine Louis communicating to his father that he was the right person in the situation.

But then he spots him.  He’s on the other side of the street, sat against the sidewalk as he keeps his head down and in his lap, and Harry would’ve missed him if it weren’t for a car passing by with its headlights on.

Harry scratches at the sleeve of his jacket a bit, feeling a sudden nervousness that he doesn't understand.  He disregards it as best he can as he walks forward, his eyes focused and his entire mind centered on only one goal: make his favorite boy smile again.

Louis’ head comes up before Harry’s even fully reached him, which causes Harry to begin to think maybe the man now has a sense of when he's around.  Maybe he  _feels_ him.  Or maybe his footsteps are just loud.

Louis’ getting to his feet as Harry shakes his head, already preparing to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Harry begins.  “I didn’t mean to—“

“No, Harry,” Louis says, setting a palm against Harry’s chest once they're close enough, his eyes trained on Harry’s collarbone.  “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“This was supposed to be a fun night, and I just ruined it without thinking—“

“You…” Louis begins, keeping his gaze away from Harry’s as he lets out a breath.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Harry pauses for a moment, licking his lips as he continues to feel heated by the touch of Louis’ palm against his chest.  Then he shrugs loosely, stretching his lips into a lopsided grin.

“Great, because I wasn’t _that_ sorry.”

Louis finally looks up at him, narrowing his eyes with what looks like a mix of annoyance and overflowing fondness.

“I mean, I _am_ sorry,” Harry starts, thinking deeply about it.  “But it’s like I’m not?  Because I know I don’t really feel bad about what I did.  I’m like, halfway between apologizing and not apologizing.”

Louis bites down on the corner of his lip, containing a grin as Harry brings a hand up to simply grip his elbow, desperate for any form of physical contact.

“He said he didn’t like the way you spoke to him,” Louis says after a while of silence, their eyes still attached as Harry feels the wind of a car speeding by on the back of his neck.

Harry doesn’t say anything, instead keeping his eyes big and focused as they stare into Louis’.

“But…” Louis continues, halting as though he’s not sure if he wants to say the next thing or not.

Harry waits for him, just as he always has, and just as he always will.

The man shakes his head slowly and tiredly, his eyes even having an exhausted heaviness to them.  “I’m more mad at myself, really.  Obviously, you got the courage to open your mouth at him before I ever did.”

Harry can’t resist lifitng a hand up to cup the side of Louis’ face, his stare sincere as Louis doesn’t look at him anymore.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Harry says.  “He’s _your_ dad, not mine.  Of course it’s gonna be harder for you.”

“Yeah, but…” Louis blinks with frustration as his hand gently slides off of Harry’s chest, Harry instantly missing the contact.  “I’ve lived all my life pretending I was some tough, strong guy,” he begins, the sight of his eyes glistening with wetness as he chokes already sending Harry's mood tumbling down.  “But I’m not,” he sniffles.  “I’m really just…not.”

“Louis, you _are_ ,” Harry says, his voice almost a whisper.  “I’ve never _met_ anyone as strong as you.  You make everything better, and you—you give me _confidence._ ”

Disapproval is clear on Louis’ face as he shakes his head.  “You had that way before me.”

“Maybe, but I got so much more suckish when we were apart,” Harry replies.  “It took seeing you again for me to fucking break up with my shitty boyfriend—“

“Harry.  Look at me,” Louis says, the soft seriousness of his voice procuring Harry’s attention as he quiets and locks gaze with the man, keeping his palm right where it is against his cheek.

“I don’t care if you have to lie to me, but please…” Louis begins, closing his eyes gently.  “Tell me you broke up with Caleb because he was abusive and controlling.  _Not_ because of me, alright?”

Harry’s eyes are mildly lost as they stare at each other, Louis appearing to mean the words he's saying with everything inside him.

“Even if—I dunno…if _this_ never just… _happens_ ,” Louis says, looking down between them.  “I never want you to settle for anything like that again.  I want you to know that the behavior isn’t okay, and whether or not I was here to blink you back to life, you’re aware that you shouldn’t have stayed with him.”

Harry nods faintly, wordless as he stares at the man, letting him know he comprehends what he’s saying.

“Yeah.  Totally,” Harry replies, his voice a bit breathy.

“Okay,” Louis breathes, emitting a sigh of relief as Harry grins a little.  “Because you’re the _real_ example of a strong person with a big personality, and I never want you to have to suppress that.”

“I won’t,” Harry says.

There’s a quiet moment, and it appears as though Louis’ both consumed with frustration and soothed all the same, but Harry doesn’t look into it, instead relishing in the fact that he’s still touching the man’s face and Louis hasn’t made any efforts to put an end to it.

Abruptly, Louis’ head falls forward, simply resting against Harry’s chest as it seems everything that’d been weighing him down lately is starting to get to him.  Harry can see it; he’s exhausted, he’s got everything and nothing on his mind, and he’s conflicted in ways that are incomprehensible.  Harry hasn’t done much to cut him some slack in these aspects, but he can’t be blamed.  He’s not here for much longer, and he’s just going to have to dump all his confessed emotions and declarations of love on Louis while the man is already dealing with everything else.

Harry moves the hand that had been rested against his cheek slowly, setting it down against his shoulder as he uses his other hand in order to reach for Louis’ palm.

Louis chuckles into his jacket, his hairs tickling Harry’s chin as he shakes and allows himself to get into dance position.

“What is happening?” Louis asks.

“Dancing,” Harry replies, already beginning to sway them to the nonexistent tunes.

“With no music?”

“Who says you need music to dance?” Harry asks.

Louis laughs some more, except now his chortles are gentle-sounding, reminiscent of slow waves and light rain.

The man cooperates, dropping whatever thoughts he’d probably had about how weird they look in public, and bringing his free hand around Harry’s waist, as well as moving his head so that it rests comfortably on Harry’s shoulder.

They just sway, hardly even moving as Harry imagines some song playing in his head—most likely a smooth, sleepy jam with some saxophones, he’s thinking. 

Neither of them say a thing as they fall into complete tranquility aided by each other’s presence, and Harry’s certain the man’s eyes are closed, just like his own are.

They’re not doing _much_ , and they’re on a darkened sidewalk as people walk by and carry on with their conversations, but the fact that Louis is doing this, letting himself go in order to warm up to Harry, in _public,_ is certainly something.

Harry becomes convinced he _can_ hear music as they remain like this, and he’s not sure if five minutes pass or twenty, because time seems to become a blur of nothingness as they hold each other and forget about everything that comes before and after this.

Harry’s almost startled when Louis speaks.

“I was scared,” the man says, speaking against Harry’s shoulder.  His voice is even quieter when he continues, although the man could whisper and Harry would hear him because of how close he is to his ear.  “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.”

The swaying comes to a stop as Harry’s heart does the same, Louis getting the signal as he takes his head off of Harry’s shoulder and brings their eyes to meet.

“Because I didn’t say anything after…you know, _it_ ,” Louis says, his exhale shaking a hint.  “I didn’t do anything, or react, and I thought maybe that upset you, and—“  He stammers a bit, growing irritated at himself.  “On top of _already_ placing myself in denial about the feelings I had for you, I was just…scared.  To like, call and stuff.”

Harry’s thrumming with feeling for every passing second they look at each other, and he parts his lips, but he doesn’t know what to say.  He instead lets out an unsteady breath as his mind goes foggy with how _much_ he’s feeling right now.

“Because I’m not brave,” Louis continues, his voice giving out at the last word and causing Harry's chest to hurt.  It seems more like he’s having a conversation with himself as his eyes wander off and he uses a finger to wipe away at his eye.  “I’m not—I’m not _anything_ now that I think about it, because I’m a coward—“

“Stop,” Harry pleads with a whisper, reaching down to caress Louis’ hand as the man continues to break down in a way Harry has never seen or _wanted_ to see. 

It’s clear Louis’ not listening as he uses his free hand to place his palm over his mouth, and Harry’s sure this is the first time he’s ever seen even one tear trickle from his eye. 

“It was really _me_ and my fears and bullshit that made these last five years happen,” he says, sniffling as he wipes his jacket sleeve across his face.  “I kept lying to myself.   _Oh he’s my best friend,_  fucking _idiot_.  I was so dumb—all because I wanted to stick to my stupid plan for my life and you weren't in it.”

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers, coming forth in order to pull him into a hug, which Louis accepts, all while continuing to sniffle and beat himself up. 

There are occasional drops of light rain felt upon Harry, but he doesn’t let it deter him as he holds his boy.  He figures it’ll probably good, having a little rain so Louis can convince himself he’s not actually crying.

“Five year fucking _plan_ ,” Louis laughs sadly, his arms barely there as they hug around Harry’s lower waist.  “I haven’t even accomplished any of that shit.  I stopped caring a long time ago.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry says, running his fingers through the hair on the back of Louis’ head.  “You have a _job_.  Wasn’t that one of them?”

“Yeah, but I _hate_ it,” Louis almost hisses as his words are mumbled into Harry’s shoulder, Harry still attempting to soothe him by the tracing of his fingers over the man’s back and the smoothing of his hair that’s now growing dampened by the rain.  “And I’ve turned my life to shit all because I’m too fucking afraid of anything different and everything’s going downhill and it's all my fault—“

“Stop,” Harry pleads, holding him tighter as Louis just whimpers into the crook of Harry’s neck, the rain having picked up steadily as Harry feels constant drops upon his nose.  “At least you’ve gotten this far.  You depend on your _self_ , you work at one of the largest corporations in the city, and yeah, maybe you don’t like it, but now you’re stable enough to explore what you _want_.  You built that stability on your own.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Louis snivels.

“And that’s okay.  I’ll be right here with you,” Harry replies, bringing his voice down in volume as he holds him close.  “Always.  Right here with you.  Through everything.”

Louis continues to sniffle as some of Harry’s hair flops in front of his face due to the rain.  The man’s once loose hands wrap around Harry with more certainty, Harry feeling his fingers grip and tug at his jacket as he grasps onto him.

“I always want you here,” he breathes, swallowing noticeably as though it’d taken him a while to muster up the courage to say it.

“I’m here,” Harry says, rubbing his palm across the man’s back soothingly as they embrace each other, closing his eyes as he rubs his cheek against the wool material of his jacket.

There’s nothing else to be said after that, but Louis has a few more sniffles as they remain wrapped around each other, Harry feeling the moisture of his tears against his neck.  Harry knows the man needed this.  He can’t imagine how many times he’s bottled up cries he’d had a desire to let out.

“This might be a random time to say this, but…” Harry begins, opening his eyes as he contemplates telling him.  “I think I’m in love with you.  Well—actually, I don’t think.  I know.”

Louis slowly pulls back, keeping his arms braced against Harry’s waist as Harry does the same with him, and Harry can’t read his facial expression, as well as what messages are hidden behind his now brimful eyes as they stare at each other.  His lips are parted _just_ a hint, and _maybe_ he’s going to say something, maybe he’s _not_ going to say something, either way Harry thinks it’s for the best that he doesn’t know, now that panic is beginning to enter his being.

He brings a hand to cover Louis’ lips, grinning widely and showing his dimples as he shakes his head.  “Don’t say anything,” he says, Louis’ shoulders already shaking as he giggles under Harry’s hand.  “You don’t have to say anything, just—yeah.”

It seems he’s succeeded as Louis goes quiet under his hand, his eyes beaming up at Harry as the man finally removes it.

“Can I kiss you now?” Harry asks, the question sudden and almost blurted.

Louis’ eyes immediately fall upon his lips, his eyebrows drawing together.  “Don’t ask.  Just do it,” he says quietly, Harry already bringing a hand up to the side of his neck.  “Don’t give me time to think about it.”

“Alrighty then,” Harry replies, taking that as his cue to go for it.

Their lips meet somewhere in the middle, the balm of both the rain and the silky atmosphere allowing their mouths to slide easily.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually cried writing a few scenes in this chapter lmaoooo
> 
> there's three more chapters in this story. i never made an epilogue for this because i always felt it ended pretty nicely but hey if ya'll think an epilogue needs to be done im down with that
> 
> also if anyone actually skipped this chapter because of the trigger warnings, just let me know and i'll put a recap in the notes of the next chapter. thanks again if you're still reading this fic, you're awesome!


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

Louis keeps the wrinkled piece of paper in his hands as he sits upon the mess of pillows and blankets that litter his bed.

He sniffs just a bit, using one hand to rub at his presumably red nose as he keeps his arm rested on his knee that he has up close to him, the paper just staring him in the face as he stares back at it with crimson, exhausted eyes hidden under his glasses.

He doesn’t even know why he still has this.

Actually, he does.  _Now_ he does, because he’s no longer a fool who tries to convince himself he doesn’t like someone even though he keeps _things_ like these for years because of sentimental value.

He reads the ancient words on it, scribbled messily with a blue ink pen that’s definitely beginning to fade.

_“Things To Do With Louis” Bucket List_

  1. _hugeee concert_
  2. _skydiving_
  3. _hiking_
  4. _christmas caroling_
  5. _ex_



And that’s where it ends.  Because Louis had done something stupid, or said something endearing that made Harry distracted.  The boy had forgotten all about the list just like that, and he’d thrown it on the floor.  Louis had picked it up later, long after Harry’d left.  He’d just _kept_ it. 

And he _still_ tried to talk himself into believing there were no _weird_ feelings he had for Harry.  That they were nothing more than best friends.

Louis’ just been sitting here, staying in his room thinking about it, and crying on and off whilst the morning ages.  He thinks about everything.  Thinks about how he’d cared for the boy so much he’d held on to any scraps that reminded him of his presence, such as this age-old, short “bucket list” that isn’t even _finished_.

He splays his hand over his face, feeling lightheaded due to all the tears and emotions and headaches as he lets the piece of notebook paper fall against the bed sheets.

God, _why_ did it take him _this_ long to realize it?  Harry was right.  Louis _had_ let him suffer, because a tiny part of him had known—a _very_ tiny part of him that got shunned into a corner whenever it wanted to be seen.  That microscopic part had a sense ( _especially_ after discovering the boy was gay) that Harry was growing feelings toward him, but it was ignored, and Louis kept gluing himself to Harry, depending on him for happiness, thinking about him and worsening the situation. 

He’s just glad his parents are _finally_ finding some hotel to stay at, so that now he can peacefully cry without someone walking in on him that isn’t Mack or Elizabeth.  He doesn’t have to suck his tears back up and put on a front in order to pretend there isn’t a hurricane going on inside of him.

His face is substantially wet as he continues to run his palms over it, allowing himself to feel helpless, and hopeful, and fucking _scared_.  He’s scared of this shit and he wishes he weren’t, but that’s just the way things are.  It’s why he’d never share this with his parents in a million years, it’s why he thinks Harry’s so strong and bulletproof for dealing with this twenty-four seven, it’s why he’s fucking _crying_ in his room like some halfwit.

He really wants this.  He _does_ want to figure things out, and get stuff sorted between him and Harry.  He wants to get the ball fucking _rolling_ because they’ve obviously missed the shit out of each other for an eternity, and right now Louis is doing nothing but wasting precious _time_ being indecisive. 

He _is_ sure.  He’s sure he wants Harry in every way; in his life, in his arms, in his bed before he goes to sleep at night, right in his face the second he wakes up, going through the motions of the day with him.  He just wants him _here_ , and it fucking sucks that he can’t let go of prudence and give into that desire already.

He’s in the midst of rubbing his fingers up under his glasses in order to soothe his puffy eyes when his door opens, and he’s tremendously grateful that he doesn’t have to switch gears in response to it.

It’s Mack, and when Louis removes his hands from his face, he sees that she’s running in, bringing her usual happy, bouncy energy along with her.  Louis’ more than certain she’s half a second away from shouting his name at the top of her lungs as she usually does, but she quickly stops just short of the bed once she realizes he's crying.

“What’s _wrong_?” she asks quite loudly, her whole face falling as though the sight of Louis crying is about to make _her_ cry.

Louis puts forth effort in order to grin, on the brink of claiming it’s nothing but an allergy before Mack is being joined by Elizabeth as his sister decides to come into his bedroom as well.

She quiets Mack as the girl continues questioning his mood vehemently, carrying the girl up in her arms as she comes over to situate herself on the edge of Louis’ bed.  Mack remains thoroughly dispirited as she sits in her mother's lap.

Louis knows there’s nothing he needs to explain, because Elizabeth is in on everything.  The altruistic, sympathetic look she has on her face says it all as Louis begins to feel the emotions hitting him again, and he finds himself bringing both palms to his face a second time, burying himself in his knees as he feels another surge of tears coming through.

Elizabeth stays silent as he sniffles, and even though Louis’ sights are immersed in darkness, he knows exactly what she looks like.  He feels one of her hands come out to simply place itself against his leg, communicating her support without saying anything.

“Wow, you still have this?” Elizabeth asks after Louis’ been burying himself in his own emotions for a while.  Louis can hear the crinkling sounds of her picking up the piece of notebook paper he’d dropped on the bed.

Louis lifts his head gradually, feeling mildly dizzy as he removes his glasses in order to rid the lenses of fog with the material of his sweatshirt.

Louis mouths the word “yeah” as he nods, finding himself too frail to actually try and say anything.

“Mommy what’s wrong with Louis?” Mack asks, tugging endlessly on her mother’s blouse.

A teasing smile grows upon Elizabeth’s mouth as she brings her eyes to Louis, Louis keeping his arms rested on his knees.

“He’s in love,” she says, which causes Mack to immediately gasp dramatically as she looks at Louis with huge, dewy eyes.

Louis opens his mouth, knowing without a doubt that there’s a red tint on his cheeks as he shakes his head faintly and pushes his glasses up his nose.  “I…I don’t know about that yet,” he claims, his voice breathy and his words stuttering on the way out.

“Yes you do,” Elizabeth replies, the same knowing smile still present on her face.

Louis sighs, blowing air out from his cheeks as he buries the lower half of his face in his arms.  “Okay,” he admits.  “Yeah.  I am.”

Elizabeth makes low _oooh_ noises that has Louis resisting the urge to chuck a pillow at her.

Louis cups his chin for a moment, feeling as though everything is moving slowly around him as he comes to terms with it.  It’s a simple acknowledgment, becoming aware of the fact that he’s in love with Harry.  But it becomes less simple when he considers the fact that he now has to analyze what comes with that, what happens next, what that _means_ , and it only causes the lump in his throat to return.

“Of course I am,” Louis breathes.  “Of _course_ I’m in love with him, and of _course_ I’m once again going to be the family disappointment.  Of course it’s fucking _me_.”  He drives a hand through his hair roughly, resisting a whimper as he feels almost sick the longer he thinks about this.  “I don’t…I don’t know how to deal with this,” he chokes out.

“Well first,” Elizabeth begins, shifting so that she can face Louis more properly as she places the list back down on the bed.  Mack crawls herself out of her mother’s lap and toward Louis.  “You’re not a disappointment, so stop calling yourself that.  Nothing about who you are, what you _want_ should be a disappointment, as long as you’re happy,” Elizabeth says, her gaze genuine as Mack comes up in order to wrap both arms around Louis’ waist and snuggle into his side.

Elizabeth takes notice of this, and it appears it gives her the idea to join them as well, scooting all the way up to Louis in order to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him in close, Louis just sitting there and allowing himself to be hugged as he sniffles profusely and feels as though his eyes weigh a ton.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Elizabeth says gently.  “I hope you understand that.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, which is probably what causes Elizabeth to pull back, keeping both hands on the sides of his arms as she looks at him with a seriousness that she only uses when scolding Mack.

“Do you?” she asks.  “Understand that nothing’s wrong with you?”

Louis strokes his hands under his glasses and over his eyes some more as he feels a strain near the back of his head, voicing the words weakly.  “I mean…I can’t feel _wrong_ when I’m with him.  When I think about him, when I just _look_ at him,” Louis replies.  “Everything feels right when we’re together.  Almost _perfect_ , even.”

“Then chase that feeling,” Elizabeth says, coming back to place her head on Louis’ shoulder as she rubs the top of his back.

Louis huffs, easing back into the feeling of warmth radiating from both Mack and Elizabeth, and he wonders why he can’t just take his sister's advice and chase that feeling.  It obviously makes him happy—happier than he’s been in a while.

There’s a knock on Louis’ bedroom door, even though the door is already open, which quickly communicates to Louis that Jordan has walked in.  He’s dressed up as though he’s going somewhere, which makes _sense_ because the wedding is two days away and there are still many things to be done.  He’s clad in a brown petticoat and his dark hair is nicely styled back in a way that never fails to make Louis both angry and jealous.  Louis had always envied him for his effortless-looking hair and the fact that he has the motivation to spend time on it in the morning.

“Uh…” he begins, slowly deflating as Louis moves his eyes to him.  “Did something happen?”

“Louis’ in _love_!” Mack exclaims, Louis feeling the poke of her smile against his side.

Louis laughs gently, Elizabeth pulling back from him as she rubs his arm and gives him one last reassuring, warm look.

“I thought that was a good thing,” he says, coming over to sit right by Elizabeth and sinking Louis’ bed even further.

“It _is_ ,” Elizabeth says, reaching out and pinching Louis’ cheek before going over to plant a sweet one on the side of her fiancé's face.

Louis watches as Mack detaches herself from his body in order to scoot up to her father, hugging him from behind as her smile grows almost impossibly wider and Jordan is explaining how the day is going to go to Elizabeth, who hangs on eagerly to his every word and just looks at him in that _way_ that had Louis certain this man was going to be _it_ for her a long time ago.

He observes the three of them, and he can admit, it’s laughable, the fact that Elizabeth got to this point before him.

It was literally in his five year _plan_ to start a family, but now all he can do is laugh as he watches them, as well as laugh at his younger, pretty much insane self.  He definitely doesn’t want a family right now—or at least, he hasn’t had a desire for one in the last five years, especially since he’s realized how much that is to take on.  The younger version of himself seriously should’ve spent less time stressing about every minuscule happening, planning out the future, and sticking to the book, and instead focused on being happy.

Louis breathes in harshly, exhaling as his eyes begin to bear a bit of a swell to them.

“So are you guys ready for this marriage thing?” Louis asks, thankful his voice has some strength to it.

Elizabeth is already nodding enthusiastically and grasping Jordan's hand between her palms before Louis’ finished his question, but she quickly stops once she realizes Jordan isn’t saying anything, and is instead sitting there with a helpless facial expression, which brings Elizabeth to gasp far more dramatically than Mack had just a few minutes ago.

Jordan breaks out into laughter, wrapping his arms around Elizabeth’s middle as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.  “I was _kidding_.”

“Well, it wasn’t _funny_ ,” Elizabeth replies, although she’s giggling brightly and her eyes are glistening with the love she has for her to-be husband.

She got to this point before Louis because, unlike him, she immediately goes after what she wants.  She doesn’t lay around moping about what could be and how everything’s ruined and why nothing can be made better, and instead finds a way to make it happen. 

It also probably has to do with the fact that she’s traditional and her choice of romantic partner is socially accepted, however.  But still.

Louis decides that today will be a waste if he never drags himself out of his bedroom and sees Harry, and the fact that Jordan is here now only further strengthens his decision to leave.  Louis is fond of the man, he is, but he’s starting to grow sick (and a bit jealous) of the heart eyes he and Elizabeth continue making at each other every two seconds, and he figures he doesn’t have to suffer through this.

The morning is still early when Louis finds himself in the hall of the twenty-fifth floor, frolicking about the hotel the men are staying at as he keeps his head down and sniffles.  He’d _still_ been crying on and off on the drive here, and at this point, he’s more than certain this is just his body getting him back for suppressing tears throughout most of his life.

Once he reaches where he remembers their rooms to be, a simple glance across the hall reminds him that Harry had told him that Caleb left, which only intensifies the fire towards the man that Louis has inside of him.  Louis knows it probably isn’t justified to literally loathe Caleb since he hadn’t even seen much of him or known him long, but Louis is a _great_ people reader.  He could also tell Harry was kind of…in his shell around him.  As though he was kicked back into it, and now it’s _proven_ that he was, because Harry is slowly coming out now, with his goofy smiles and silly rambles and continuous fascination toward everything around him.  The man is unraveling beautifully, and it’s truly magical that Louis’ here to witness it.

Louis knocks on the door of their suite, already beginning to feel the current of emotion in his chest that he’d been experiencing repeatedly all day.  He knows how badly it shows on his face, the fact that he’s been crying both _happily_ and with _fear_ for the past few hours, and he really doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, but he also wants to see Harry, like _now_ —

When the door opens, he’s pleased to find that that’s the first face he sees.

The man looks comfy, as though he’d gotten out of bed not too long ago as he wears a simple, cotton gray t-shirt and loose-fitting sweatpants, along with an artistically mussed head of hair.

The coziness of his smile, the familiarity of his dimples, the deepness of his green eyes that Louis seems to be falling into immediately bring him back into his feelings, causing him to laugh breathily as the tears make their speedy return.

All hope of using his glasses in order to potentially conceal his puffy eyes is gone by now.

“C’mere,” Harry says, already bringing Louis in by the back of his head and holding him to his chest, probably not even aware that Louis is crying because of how in love he is with him.

It seems the rest of them are still asleep, which explains why he hasn’t heard Liam snort disapprovingly or Niall wail or Zayn offer his slow, mellow wishes of good morning as they settle on the couch where Harry apparently sleeps, getting comfy under his blanket and  breathing each other’s air.

Louis keeps his head placed against Harry’s collarbone and near his shoulder as he sniffles, beginning to feel more at ease as they remain curled under the thick blanket and he relishes in the sensation of Harry tenderly stroking at his hair, allowing him to cry.

Louis likes this.  He’s enjoying the quietness of it, how they’ve hardly even said any words to each other yet they vaguely understand, and the man is just _here_ for him regardless of the reason why he’s in so much pain.  This is all he’s wanted for so long, and no one else could ever fill this position for him.  He _knew_  deep down that no one else could, but he’d tried so hard to deny it.

He brings his arms up in order to wrap around Harrry’s waist and tug him in closer, Harry allowing it easily as his soft hand runs from Louis’ shoulder and slowly down the length of his arm.

Louis’ state of emotional unrest begins to calm little by little, and soon they’re rested upon one another, quiet and snug as Louis feels more relaxed in this man’s arms than he’s ever felt in his own bed. 

Of course, the tranquil, shared silence (save for Louis’ occasional breath hiccups), is ended when one of the bedroom doors open and words are spoken.

“So are you moving in with us?” he hears Liam ask from somewhere up above in that usual, nonchalant and borderline annoyed tone of voice.

Louis grins against Harry’s collarbone, feeling the pads of the man’s fingers tap gently against his skin.

“No, my uh…” he begins, clearing his throat.  “My sister and her fiancé are under my roof now, and I’ve been run out of my home.”

He hears a huff of genuine laughter from Liam as it seems he’s rummaging the fridge for something, and not even a few seconds pass before another one of the bedroom doors are opened, and Louis simply prays to God it’s not Niall, because the man is going to make a _huge_ thing out of this.

It becomes clear that it is, because Louis can hear giddy footsteps coming towards the front of the couch.  They eventually come to a complete stop as it seems the man is just staring at them.  Louis can _feel_ his relentless eyes even from the nest of Harry he’s buried himself in.

The silence stretches longer, and Louis feels Harry’s ankle gently move in order to nudge against his under the blanket, making him a touch warmer.

“Nice,” Niall says.

And…that seems to be it.  Much to Louis’ pleasure and slight surprise.

“It _is_ nice,” he hears Harry murmur into his shoulder, which brings about another tiny smile upon Louis’ lips.

The man shifts a bit, and through breathy chuckles and abrupt movements, Louis figures _something_ playful is going on; he’s just going to assume Niall flicks his ear and Harry shoves him away, which makes Louis all the more pleased.

He hears Niall clasp his hands together before speaking.  “So are you guys coming?  We’re about to head out.”

Louis subtly shakes his head and hopes the message is received by Harry.

“Erm…” Harry begins, which already confirms it for Louis, the fact that the man clearly is also in favor of not going out.  “No…I think we’re just gonna spend the day in.”

“You _suck_.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Louis says, his eyebrows creasing as he keeps his head buried.  “Nothing wrong with lazying the day away on a hotel couch.”

“Suit yourself,” he hears Niall say, before it sounds as though he finally walks away.

It’s not long before Zayn is out of his room as well and he’s made his acknowledgements on the way Louis and Harry are “situated” around each other.  Louis is beyond grateful that his is even tinier than Niall’s, because all he does is place a palm on each of their heads and tell them good morning.

The men file out with their goodbyes and reassurances that they can text them if they ever change their minds about coming out, and both Louis and Harry are once again met with peaceful quietude.

“This would’ve gotten me through so many stressful days,” Louis mumbles, sliding his hands up the man’s back and bringing his leg to hook around one of Harry’s.

“This would’ve gotten me through everything,” Harry replies, his words equally as mumbled as he caresses Louis back.  “You don’t know how hard it was for me not to reach out and hold you like this when we used to sleep in the same _bed_.”

Louis laughs, wholeheartedly and a bit tiredly, opening his eyes to slits.  “God.  We did so much weird shit it’s ridiculous it took us this long to get it together.”

“I think I take the prize for weird shit, though,” Harry replies.  “I _still_ have the gourmet cupcake box you gave to me—except it’s flat and kind of ugly now, because I accidentally stepped on it one day.”

Louis raises an eyebrow and laughs some more, Harry clutching his sweatshirt.

“But actually, it’s still beautiful in its own little way,” Harry continues.  “I don’t think it gets much weirder than that, though.”

“Oh really?” Louis asks, before shifting in order to dig into his pocket, reaching for the paper he’d grabbed before he left his bedroom this morning _just_ so he could show it to Harry.  “I still have _this_.”

Harry separates from him just a smidge in order to see what Louis has in his hand, the both of them now able to look at each other’s eyes as the man glances down in between them, gently taking the notebook paper out of Louis’ hand and spreading it apart.

His eyebrows are furrowed at first, as though he’s seriously trying to figure out what the fuck these random words even mean, but it’s noticeable when it begins to come to him, because his eyes grow and his lips part in awe.

“I _completely_ forgot about this,” Harry says, bringing his fingers up to his mouth as he smiles down at it, as though it’s a newborn baby.  “Oh my God.”

Harry’s looking down at the sheet of paper while Louis’ looking up at him, admiring his wonderful reaction as it seems that specific night comes back to him vividly.

The man then brings his sparkling eyes back up to Louis, his thumb between his teeth as he clearly suppresses the urge to smile too widely.

“You kept it,” he says softly, causing a grin to tug at Louis’ lips.

They share a tender moment, shamelessly gazing at each other, Harry becoming thoroughly blushy and Louis’ insides beginning to fill to the brim with affection for every second they remain like this.

Harry bites his lip as he shifts his eyes back down, appearing almost completely flushed.  “For five years, we really haven’t accomplished much on this list.”

“We still have time,” Louis replies, bringing a hand up in order to stroke against the edges of Harry’s neck, his collarbones, his jawline.  A thought comes to him as he thinks about it, Harry obviously doing the same as he blinks down at the list.  “My sister’s trying to get a live band to play at the reception, so that can count as the concert.”

Harry grins, his shoulders shaking with giggles as he looks at him once again.  “Isn’t that supposed to be like, a civilized event, though?” he asks.  “Doubt people are going to actually be in concert mode.”

“Which will give _us_ more room to rock out,” Louis replies playfully, settling his fingertips against Harry’s cheek.

“I like the way you think,” Harry says, leaning forth so that their foreheads touch.  “So what about the other stuff on this list, huh?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Louis replies.  “We should make it longer though.”

“Definitely,” Harry agrees, rolling onto his back as he brings the list up to his squinted eyes.  “ _After_ exploring—what was the planet again?”

“Saturn,” Louis giggles.

“ _After_ exploring Saturn, we should go zip lining through a forest,” Harry suggests, turning his head to look at Louis for approval, the man immediately nodding in response.

“We should vacation in a savanna,” Louis adds.  “We can even ride around on the ostriches that live there.”

Harry makes a point of snapping, nodding along with Louis’ suggestion.  “I need a pen, because this is _serious_ stuff.”

Louis laughs as he sits up to stretch for a stray pen he sees on the coffee table, handing it to Harry and sufficiently allowing him all the opportunity he needs to exercise his endlessly creative mind in order to jot stuff down.  As they chuckle back and forth about ridiculous things to add to the list, Louis softening all over every time Harry gazes at him for suggestion, Louis can care less about whether or not they actually do anything on the list.  The value is in how they both have a pretty good idea about how long they're going to be together, how they'll have time to accomplish these things.  It’s reassuring.

“Jordan and Elizabeth already beat us to it,” Louis says in response to Harry suggesting they go horseback riding on the beach.

Harry’s face twists just a hint as he presses the pen into his cheek.  “I never really took Elizabeth as a horseback riding kind of girl.”

“She’s not.  I still don’t understand how that happened,” Louis replies, before adding as an afterthought:  “But how would _you_ know what kind of girl she is?  You’ve hardly ever even spoken to her.”

Harry looks at him out of the corner of his eye.  “I’ve spoken to her enough."

“Sure,” Louis replies, bringing himself in so he can nestle his head against Harry’s shoulder and taking notice of how long the list is now, the top half of the page faded and written in blue ink and the bottom half fresher and written in black.

Harry’s eyes are pointed up at the ceiling as he seems to be thinking, tapping the pen against his cheekbone as Louis keeps a hand placed against his chest.

“I should add yoga,” Harry suggests, causing a grin to tug at the corner of Louis’ lips.

“Haven’t you already done yoga before?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies.  “But I wanna do it with you.”

“That’s a pretty chill fantasy, if I’m being honest,” Louis says, their gazes meeting in close proximity once Harry turns to look at him.  “And the last thing you wanna see is me attempting to do any type of exercise.”

Harry shrugs, a smug look on his face as though something’s fluttering through his mind.  “Can’t blame me for wanting to see how flexible you are.”

Louis can feel the intensity in the way his own cheeks blush, but he keeps his eyes to Harry, his fingers grabbing onto the material of Harry’s t-shirt just a bit more.

“I see this bucket list has evolved into you trying to live out your horny teenage fantasies.”

Harry shakes his head faintly, his eyes gliding down to fall upon Louis’ lips as he speaks.  “I already have though,” he says, his eyes coming back up.  “Haven’t I?”

Louis chews on his bottom lip for a moment, feeling flushed beyond belief as Harry remains so close to him, his voice seeming to have lowered an octave without Louis noticing.

“I’m pretty sure you lived many of them out before this trip,” Louis replies.

Harry purses his lips as he nods, almost reluctantly as he begins to think back on it.  “Maybe,” he says, followed by a sigh.  “But all of that—all of the shit I’ve done, it doesn’t give me anywhere _near_ as nice a feeling as just kissing you.”

Louis swallows, feeling that same rush through his chest as before, which he now figures is just his body reminding him he’s in love with Harry and Harry is in love with him too.

“ _Not_ that we should stop doing other stuff besides kissing though,” Harry adds, raising his eyebrows at Louis with a suggestive air that makes Louis shove his chest and mumble at him to shut up.

“But seriously…” Harry continues, his gaze back upon the ceiling as Louis remains close next to him.  “That night...when I kissed you for the first time, even though I knew how huge and detrimental what I was doing was, I can’t deny how _amazing_  it felt.  It was like, I’d been crushing on you hard for _months_ and I finally just _did_ it,” Harry says, Louis closing his eyes in order to absorb his words.  “I just did it, and during it, all I could think about was how it completely lived up to my expectations of how perfect it would be, and then it ended, and I was hit with reality, and stuff.”

“As was I,” Louis adds, to which Harry chuckles delicately.

“And…when I came here, and you were drunk, and we like, made _out_ ,” Harry says, his eyes growing by the second as he appears to just be letting whatever comes to his mind roll off of his tongue.  “I knew something was off, and it was wrong, and I had so many chances to put an end to it that I didn’t take.  I just couldn’t bring myself to stop because I’d spent _years_ wondering what you tasted like, and I’d finally gotten it.”

Louis ignores the evident whirling of his stomach as he rests his eyes.  “I probably tasted like an ashtray back then.”

“And I would’ve enjoyed it,” Harry replies matter-of-factly.  “As long as I was kissing you.”

“Of course you would,” Louis laughs gently, rubbing circles into Harry’s chest.

“But…just to be sure, you should kiss me right now,” Harry says, Louis sensing the smug look on his face without even seeing it.  “Only to make sure you don’t taste like an ashtray anymore.”

Louis does as requested, first nestling his nose against Harry’s neck and across his cheek before caressing the side of his face and bringing his lips down to meet the man’s.

The kiss is subtle and sweet at first, Harry’s slow hands coming up to caress his waist as their lips drag against each other.  Louis’ head goes misty as Harry gently licks into his mouth, one of his hands coming up to dig at his hair as he deepens the kiss.

Their pecks go from one level to the next fairly quickly, Louis somehow finding himself properly on top of Harry as Harry holds his face, their tongues managing to brush against each other in a synchronized manner as Louis freely submerges himself into it, because they’re alone, they’re in love, and there's nothing stopping them.

A low hum is heard from Harry, vibrating against Louis’ lips as he tilts his head.  He shivers faintly once he feels the fingertips of one of Harry’s hands coming up under his sweatshirt and brushing against his waist.

Their lips are parted once Louis chuckles breathily into the air between them.

“What’s wrong?” Harry whispers, their mouths ghosting over one another.

Louis shakes his head.  “Nothing,” he whispers back, caressing Harry’s face as their foreheads press together, allowing his eyes to close to the delicate feeling of Harry’s strands of hair against his skin.

“Nothing,” Louis repeats, before attaching their lips again. 

That’s the problem—or _not_ the problem.  Absolutely _nothing_ is wrong, and Louis hates that it took him so long to get this right.

A lot of time is spent with their lips attached, and somehow, at some point that Louis’ not sure of, Harry’s shirt definitely comes off due to some unknown force, providing Louis’ hands with a playground to touch his chest and stroke his sides and feel the warmth of his skin underneath his fingers.

Eventually it becomes tiring, Louis finding himself fighting an internal battle between wanting to kiss Harry forever and wanting to give into the fact that his lips are numbing.  He succumbs to the latter desire, and it seems he does it at the same time Harry does, his face falling back into Harry’s bare chest as the blankets covering them are now just adding to the overwhelming hotness that’s circulating the air.

There are a few more useless, lazy words mumbled between them and tired giggles, but it’s not long before they fall asleep tangled within each other.

 

~*~

 

They haven’t removed themselves from the couch all day.

Well, _besides_ when Harry’d gotten up in order to open the door and obtain the food they’d ordered through room service.

But that was _hours_ ago, and now they’re still on the couch, Louis’ back pressed up against Harry’s bare chest as the glow from the television casts a light upon the otherwise dark suite.

The others are even back, and they’re spread amongst the area as they casually watch some movie that’s playing.  Harry's curled up behind Louis, Niall's sprawled out on the ground, and Zayn's sat at the foot of one of the other couches in front of Liam, the man making an activity out of running his hands through Zayn’s dark locks.

Louis has spent pretty much the entire day attached to Harry wherever they can get their skin to touch, and he doesn’t mind it one bit.  Actually, he wouldn’t mind doing this every day.  He wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of his _life_.

He messes with his lips for a moment as he contemplates what that probably means, the fact that he wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of his life.

On any regular day, before this whole week of wedding chaos and reunions began, Louis would've felt outrageously shitty after not having gotten a single thing done in hours and napping his time away, but all he feels right now is utter bliss.

“The thought of this trip ending and going back to regular life makes me sad,” Niall suddenly says after they’ve been silently paying partial attention to whatever’s on the screen.

“I very much agree,” Louis replies, nudging his face against the couch cushion.

“Technically, me and Zayn don’t have to leave,” Liam says, his eyes downcast upon Zayn’s head as he continues to mess with his hair (it almost looks like he’s massaging his _head_ ).

“Yeah, but I hate staying away from Canopy too long,” Zayn says with a sigh.  “He doesn’t know the neighbors that well, and they’re probably not stroking his tail the way he likes.”

“We’re scheduled to check out on Saturday,” Niall adds.  “You guys can stay, but my pockets aren’t big enough to stay in this shithole.”

Louis closes his eyes, begging himself not to think about it, even as Harry chimes in about what time they’re supposed to turn in the room keys.  He simply brings his hands down in order to hold onto Harry’s arms that are curled around him, quieting his mind and putting a stop to all impending worry.

Louis’ allowed some more time to rest in Harry’s arms, not even bearing any knowledge of what time it is.  It's not until his phone vibrates in his pocket that he remembers his phone even  _exists,_ and he finds himself mildly irritated as he squints at the screen.  It's Elizabeth, of course, and tonight she's going to be the one to put an end to his long day of cuddling and napping.

With probably the most difficulty Louis has ever had to exert in order to move, he sits up, itching at his head as he yawns.

“I have to go,” he starts, his voice tired.

Harry sits up along with him, his irises mystically visible with the way the television light is gracing his face.  “Why?”

“Sis and her husband are trying to have a romantic night out, or something,” Louis says, rubbing his eyes with exhaustion.  “Need me to watch Mack.”

Harry’s already moving in order to pull on his shirt, Louis watching with shy amusement as he gets it on while muffling the words “I’ll come”.

Louis laughs halfheartedly. “You don’t…have to,” he forces out, even though he knows he wants him to come.  He isn't ready to tell him goodbye, especially now that he’s been sucker punched with the fact that the end of this vacation is approaching fast.

Once Harry has his shirt on, he reaches for Louis’ glasses that he’d put on the table next to the couch, Louis having taken them off once they'd started to get in the way of their long period of kissing, and he slides them on Louis’ face before tapping a finger against his nose.

“I’m coming,” he says easily.

“Okay,” Louis giggles, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he shifts in order to get up.

He offers his goodbyes to the rest of them as he prepares to leave out with Harry, and as soon as they get out into the hallway, he hops on the man’s back, burying his face in his shoulder as Harry enthusiastically sprints down the lonely floor without even as much as a grunt.

 

~*~

 

“That’s not true,” Mack laughs, shaking her head vigorously as she sits on the carpet.

Harry’s just gotten done telling an exceedingly detailed story that seemed to be a cross between the one about the gingerbread man, Goldilocks, and Jack and the Beanstalk.  Louis' fully convinced he improvised the entire thing.

“It _is_ ,” Harry nearly whines, sat up behind Mack as the girl rests the back of her head against him and rolls a red ball of play dough around in her hands.

“The gingerbread man doesn’t really exist,” Mack says, tilting her chin up in order to blink prettily at Harry.

Louis’ sat across from them, his hood over his head as he rests on the floor against the couch, pleasantly watching their exchange and loving the fact that Harry’s made the last two hours of babysitting quite eventful.

“Who told you that?” Harry asks, his brows knit together with seriousness.  He then brings his gaze up toward Louis.  “She’s not supposed to know these things at this age."

Louis shrugs uselessly.  “Ask Elizabeth.”

“Do you believe in the tooth fairy?” Harry asks, looking back down at her.

Mack wrinkles her nose in puzzlement, even pausing her activity of rolling play dough into a perfect ball.  “The _what_?”

Harry appears thoroughly shocked right now as his gaze widens.

“Harry,” Louis says, procuring his attention.  “She’s three.  She hasn’t even lost teeth yet.”

Mack’s interest is peaked as she raises her eyebrows at Louis.  “I'll lose _teeth_?” she asks, sounding mildly terrified.

Harry works quickly in order to extinguish her fear as he begins to talk extensively about how she _will_ eventually lose teeth, and how it’ll be okay because the tooth fairy will prance into her room and put money under her pillow, leaving behind a trail of “glitter” and “magic dust”.

“I can’t _wait_ to lose teeth!” Mack exclaims, her eyes rich in captivation as she thinks about it.  “Louis, when are you losing teeth?”

Louis shakes his head, pursing his lips as Mack stares at him expectantly.  “Only kids lose their teeth,” Louis replies.  “I’m not a kid anymore and I’m actually…really old.”

“You’re not _old_ ,” Mack says.

“And why’s that?” Louis asks.

“Because you’re not getting married like Mommy and Daddy,” Mack begins, speaking as though she’s wise beyond her years.  “And you don’t have kids.”

Louis can only hold his mouth closed for so long before he bursts with tiny giggles, Harry doing the exact same as it seems they’re equally amused by her logic.

“I’m _older_ than your mother,” Louis says.

“Mommy says it’s bad to lie,” Mack replies.  “You should get kids so we can _play_ together!”

Louis continuously shakes his head as he tilts his face down, even as Harry sits his chin gently in Mack’s hair and looks at him pointedly, dimples on either side of his cheeks.

Louis cocks his head faintly, biting back a grin as he looks at Harry, Harry cocking his head in the exact same way as they seem to be having some sort of nonverbal conversation, although Louis’ not sure if they’re thinking the same thing.

Harry stretches his lips into a smile, complete with both rows of teeth as he keeps his chin rested on top of Mack’s head, the girl oblivious to their quiet exchange as she flattens the play dough between her palms. 

Louis rolls his eyes obnoxiously as he sighs, suppressing a toothy grin as he looks away from the man.

The energy that Mack had been bursting with for hours finally begins to dwindle once it's nearing midnight, and eventually, they’re all laid upon the floor of the den among a mess of pillows and quilts that Louis had dragged out of his room.

Louis and Harry are still awake as Mack sleeps peacefully next to them, wrapped up in her own little pink blanket that she refuses to sleep without, and they’re keeping the volumes of their voices to a minimum as they murmur at each other.  Louis’ now reminded of one of the reasons he usually doesn’t take naps—he can _never_ go to sleep when it’s time.

“They should be here by now,” Louis says with a yawn as he lays on his side, facing Harry.  “Pretty sure now they’re just taking advantage of the fact that I’m here.”

“I mean, they _are_ getting married,” Harry replies, whispering.  “Makes sense that they’d wanna be all mushy gushy right now.”

The only light that’s present is a tiny orange night lamp plugged in near Mack, but mostly everything is dark and endlessly quiet as they study the detailed outlines of each other’s faces.  Louis doesn’t say anything else, instead getting his head settled upon the pillow as he continues to stare at this man, growing certain he’s never looked at a person so much in his life.

“Hey,” Harry suddenly whispers.

Louis quirks an eyebrow up, waiting for him to continue as he becomes weary of the two inch space between them (they’d tried not to get _too_ close because of Mack, but now that she’s asleep, the space seems unnecessary).

“I never said sorry,” he breathes.

Louis’ slightly confused as he keeps his eyes forward, trying to think of anything that’s happened lately that he’d need to apologize for.

“For…not calling,” Harry finishes.  “Not reaching out.  It costed us five years.”

Louis shakes his head, exhaling deeply as he reaches out in order to caress Harry’s wrist.  “You don’t have to apologize.  We were both scared for different reasons,” Louis replies, keeping his tone soft.  “But it’s okay.  We’re okay now.”

Louis can faintly see the way his lips curve as Harry moves his hand around in order to slide his fingers in between Louis’.

“Hey,” Louis begins, scooting his face closer to Harry’s so he can breathe his air again.

“Yeah?”

“From the moment after we kissed for the first time and parted ways,” Louis starts.  “And the moment I first looked at you at the wine tasting party…”

Harry hangs onto his every word, the greens of his eyes almost visible as they remain so intimately close.

“Tell me everything that happened in between,” Louis finishes.

He hears Harry draw in a slight breath, as though that’s the last thing he’d expected him to say.  He’s quiet for a bit as their eyes remain locked, Louis sincere about the fact that he wants to know every single detail of every part of his life for all the years they spent apart.

“Catch me up,” Louis adds with a smile.

“Only if you do the same,” Harry replies, smiling back just as sweetly.

Louis nods, blinking slowly as he rubs his thumb over the skin of Harry’s hand.  “Of course.”

So Harry begins.  He goes on to tell Louis the events of their time apart—after Louis has to scold him for not starting from the _very_ beginning (the moment he went back into his apartment, to be exact).  Louis wants to be in tune with everything that’s happened in order to get around to erasing all the lost time that’d caused this great rift between them.  His eyes glisten more with every minute that Harry speaks, and his heart is beating with adoration for every story Harry tells.  All he can wish is that he was there—there when Harry’s mother had given up on him, when he’d almost given up on himself because of the lack of support, uncertainty about where he wanted to go in life, dead-end jobs that had him on his feet for excruciating hours.  The man's life as a teacher is still pretty fresh and recent—before that he was just struggling and lost, fearing he’d never get where he wanted to be because of the myriad of schools that had rejected him for teaching jobs.

All of it makes Louis that much more in love with him, admiring how strong he’s proven himself to be and feeling horrible that he wasn’t there to embrace him to sleep and tell him that it was all going to be fine in the end.

As promised, once Harry’s done and Louis actually feels as though he’s lived those years with him, Louis goes on about his own adventures, although they're much more lackluster and less triumphant than Harry’s, because Louis’ always been known to stay on a strict, organized schedule.  There wasn’t much room for him to find himself stranded and miserable at high-labor jobs, because he’d gone to graduate school, just as planned, finished, just as planned, and because of his resume, got the executive assistant position at his current job, just as planned.  He didn’t try his hand at dating like Harry had (and _wow_ he had some…interesting experiences with interesting people), because he knew there was no use in forcing it.

He can’t believe it took him a century to realize that just because things go perfectly, it doesn’t mean everything’s going to be perfect.  Sure, Louis’ living comfortably with his comfortable career and comfortable kitchen and comfortable fucking centerpieces but none of that is _enough_.  It’s not enough to make him happy in the way he needs to be, and it’s time he stops relying on organization and planning for his happiness and tries daring to do something different for once.

As he’s talking to Harry, his heart beats faster with an urge to throw everything away and chase what he desires.  Immerse himself in happiness and say _fuck_ everything as he falls into this man’s arms.  He doesn’t know _exactly_ what that means, but he just knows it involves Harry.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

Harry uses extreme concentration as he narrows his eyes, placing two cards to rest against each other in order to add to the stack he’s making on top of the coffee table in their hotel suite.

He’s been at this for about half an hour now, and he’s quite proud of himself and how the stack is impressively high and doesn’t seem as though it’s falling anytime soon.  He’s using the vocabulary cards from his class—and now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t even know why he’d brought them along.  He figures it was just some kind of automatic thing, accidentally packing vocabulary cards because he’s so used to going nowhere but school and home.  They ended up being useful anyway, of course, because it’s late afternoon and Harry’s exceptionally bored.

The wedding that everyone has been waiting for is tomorrow, and today is the day of the rehearsal dinner, so it’s no surprise that Louis is tremendously busy.  It’s clear in the way Harry hasn’t gotten anything since the good morning text he’d seen when he’d checked his phone first thing in the morning.  It’s alright though; his boyfriend is busy with wedding things, being a groomsman, confirming flower arrangements, and it’s cute to think about.

Harry pauses right before he’s about to add another card to the stack, narrowing his eyes even further.

 _Is_ Louis his boyfriend?

He _should_ be, because lately they’ve done nothing but dramatically express how much they mean to each other and cry and hug and do all that stuff that boyfriends do.

It’s weird though.  While he’s not sure if they _are_ officially boyfriends, the thought of them simply being a couple seems as though it’s not enough.  He feels like he’s loved Louis for so long that by now, calling themselves something as simple as “boyfriend and boyfriend” just seems…anticlimactic. 

He decides he shouldn’t get too hung up on it anyway—it doesn’t _matter_ what they call themselves, as long as they both understand that there’s no one else in the world they’d rather be with, and they accept one another to have and to hold for the rest of their lives.  That’s all.

When his phone vibrates against the surface of the table, he reaches for it so quickly that his stack of cards begins to wobble just a hint.  Harry slows his movements as his hand comes closer to his phone, his eyes carefully focused on the stack of cards that he’d spent so much precious time on.

Once he finally brings his phone up to his face, his expression drops as he grows more than annoyed.

“Is that Caleb?”

The question completely startles Harry as he drops his entire phone, not even having known that Liam was in the room as he sits at one of the faraway tables and appears to be reading a book.

“ _Dude_ ,” Harry says, his heart race through the roof as Liam puts his book down.  “How long’ve you been there?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Liam says with a gentle shrug as he closes his book, keeping a finger inside it in order to bookmark the page.  “Is that Caleb?”

Harry parts his lips, furrowing his eyebrows and not wanting to answer the question, although he’s sure his silence has already handled that.

“Why don’t you just delete his number?” Liam asks, keeping his voice quiet even though he’s fairly far.

“I _did_ ,” Harry replies.  “That doesn’t stop him from texting me about how he’s sorry.”

This had started around the early hours of the morning, a little past four a.m.  Harry’d gotten his first text from a now unknown number that he’d known immediately belonged to Caleb, apologizing and asking if they could talk about what happened.  Since then, Harry’s gotten three more messages, including this one, all of which he hasn’t replied to.

“Then _block_ his number,” Liam says.

Harry sighs, setting his phone back on the table before running a hand through his hair.  “He’d _know_ , and—and he’d just get even angrier, and everything would get worse—"

“Listen,” Liam begins, turning in his seat in order to properly face Harry.

Harry looks up at him hesitantly, tapping his fingers against his thighs as he remains kneeled down in front of the coffee table.

“I know people,” Liam says, his voice so calm it’s bordering on scary.  “People that will handle him if need be, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” Harry replies incredulously as he starts to grow concerned about Liam’s implications.  “I _don’t_ know what you mean.”

“Suit yourself,” Liam says with another shrug, just as the door to the suite is opening and Zayn is entering, holding two of the reusable, environmentally-friendly grocery bags he always brings around.

“I got stuff,” he says excitedly, setting the bags down on one of the counters before rummaging through them.  He eventually pulls out a small glass jar that has something clinking around inside it, and then he moves to pull out what looks like a necklace made of seashells.

“For my best friend, I got this,” he says, walking over to Harry and grinning proudly as he sets the jar in front of him, which Harry can now see has some small, blue green-ish rock thing inside of it. 

Before Harry can even question it, Zayn is approaching Liam with the same radiant smile, the seashell necklace dangling from his hand.  “And for my soulmate, I got this.”

Harry grabs the jar off of the table as he looks into the glass with observant eyes, shaking it around as he speaks.  “Yeah, I think your soulmate might be friends with hitmen.”

Zayn doesn’t seem to care to listen to him as he stands behind where Liam sits and secures the necklace behind his neck, all while Liam continues to read and grin down at his book.

“What is this anyway?” Harry asks.

“Oh, it’s amazonite,” Zayn says, as though Harry understands what that means.  “It’s a stone that can aid with the rekindling and strength of your relationship.”

Harry nods his head slowly, knowing there was no way this wasn’t going to happen at some point.

“Nice,” he replies, setting it back on the table before shifting over in order to continue working on his stack.

Through the empty spaces in his tall stack of cards, he can see Zayn leaning behind Liam and draping his arms over the man’s chest, kissing the side of his head as he looks as though he’s taking a glimpse at what he’s reading.

“Are you excited?” Zayn asks him, nearly purring into his ear as he says it.  “We might get to slow dance today.”

Harry bites the inside of his cheek as he tries to focus on stacking cards, but he can’t help that his nerves begin to feel as though they’re being poked at.

Liam mumbles something sweet that Harry can’t hear, which causes Zayn to peck about a million more kisses into the side of his face before releasing him and standing up straight.

“Are _you_ excited?” Zayn asks as he approaches Harry, coming over to rest his elbows against the back of the couch as he leans into the leather.

“For the rehearsal?” Harry asks.  “Not really.”

He can sense the way Zayn’s lips part without even looking at him, knowing whatever _excitement_ he had is quickly being washed away.

“I actually…” Harry begins, carefully setting two cards against one another.  “I might not go, I think.”

Zayn rounds the couch, his eyebrows drawn together as he sits upon it and casts his eyes directly on Harry.  “Why?” he asks.  “Did something happen?”  He doesn’t have to add the “ _already?”_ for Harry to know it’s there.

“No.  I just…” Harry sighs, sitting back on his feet as he takes a pause from all the stacking.  “I don’t think I should go.  His dad doesn’t really like me, and Louis’ not really in his…most _comfortable_ element when the whole family’s around.”

Zayn continues staring at him, discouragement written everywhere on his face as he joins his hands together.

“He won’t fully be himself around me, and I kinda just wanna save myself the pain,” Harry finishes, before pressing his lips together and shrugging uselessly.

“There won’t be any pain,” Zayn says, his voice quiet.  “Harry, you _know_ Louis would want you there.  Especially with how stressful his day probably is.  You know that.”

Harry closes his eyes briefly, because as per usual, Zayn is right. 

It’s just that, now Harry’s gotten a plethora of heart eyes, sugary kisses, and boundless _love_ from Louis, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to go right back to square one once they’re in front of everybody.  He doesn’t think his heart can take it right now.

But he _does_ know Louis would want him there.  Just about everyone is invited to come, and if the boys attend the event while Harry stays back, he knows Louis will take it the wrong way.  The man probably just wants the comfort of Harry’s presence, being able to look across the room during the toast and see his smiling face.

Harry doesn’t get to offer any official statement as to what his decision is, because Niall’s door is bursting open, and as always, the man is hollering at the top of his lungs.

“Sunset Rum,” he announces, leaning against the couch right behind Zayn as he smiles excitedly.  “Eighty-five percent alcohol.  It’s on my bucket list to drink it straight and I found out one of the bars around here has it.  Who’s coming with me?”

Harry snorts, letting out another one of his sighs before getting to his feet and lazily smacking at his stack.  He succeeds in getting it to topple over so that he can save himself the eventual disappointment.

“I’ll supervise,” Harry says, already going over to where he’s left his shoes by his suitcase.

“Great!  I’ll be waiting down in the lobby,” Niall replies, already skipping over to the door in order to leave out.

Zayn looks over his shoulder at where the man is making his exit.  “Wait, I got you a _gift_ —“

“Keep it warm, alright?” is the last thing he says before the door shuts behind him.

Once Harry’s slipped his shoes on and gotten some type of ensemble together so that it doesn’t look like he’d rolled out of bed and immediately began boredly stacking cards, he and Niall are roaming around a city they don’t even know, the bar that had apparently been “around here” becoming quite hard to find.

Harry finds himself struggling to keep up with Niall as the man pops his head into bars repeatedly, asks if they have Sunset Rum, and then pops his head back out.

Once they finally find the building they’d been looking for all along, Harry has never been more grateful to walk into a bar during daylight hours.

Harry slides into the front counter of the bar right next to Niall, the man procuring a shot of the drink within five minutes of entering (at first he’d asked for a glass, which the bartender vehemently denied despite his protests).

Harry’s trying his best to be enthusiastic about everything, despite his doubts about how safe this is, as well as his internal contemplation concerning whether or not he’s going to attend the rehearsal dinner.

“Hey,” Niall says, nudging Harry as the shot glass remains in front of him.  “You alright?”

He figures Niall must’ve sensed the fact that he was spacing out next to him, which means he’s probably not being subtle about how his mind is someplace else.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, chuckling even though he knows Niall sees right through it.  He brings his head down to where his phone rests in his lap, giving into the fact that his fingers have been itching to text Louis for hours now. “I’m just—I'm not sure if this is a good idea.  Isn’t one shot of that gonna fuck you up pretty badly?”  He texts Louis something sweet, but not too bothersome as he shows thoughtfulness for how busy he probably is: _hope ur okay.  i love you x_

He doesn’t know why he adds the ‘x’.  It just feels right.

“Harry, I am a man of _steel_ ,” Niall replies, almost appearing offended. 

Harry’s grin finally begins to come to life as he swings his legs underneath him and slides his phone back into his pocket.  He feels much more pleasant now that he's sent that, because he'd been silently debating with himself over whether sending the man a text would be clingy or not, or what qualifies as clingy, or whether or not Louis would even _care_ if he was clingy and _—_ he's just finally at ease now that he's tossed his doubts out the window and just _sent_ it.

“Watch," Niall says, Harry now watching the man with his full attention and a brightened mood.

Niall tilts his head back and downs the shot, and even a few people situated near the counter and behind it hoot and whistle in response to it, Harry looking around and not even having known they were being watched.

Niall reacts vividly to it, pressing his hands against the sides of his face as he looks down and squeezes his eyes shut.  Harry watches closely, trying to figure out if everything’s _alright_ as the man wheezes faintly and shakes his head repeatedly.

“Are you _okay—“_

 _“Fuck_ , that was great,” Niall declares, shaking out his head some more as he blinks profusely.  “I can—I can feel it in my ears.”  He doesn’t touch his ears though, his hands instead coming to his nose as he strokes both sides of it gently, and Harry can’t hold it in anymore as he erupts with amused laughter.

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” Harry laughs, pressing his head down against the counter for a brief moment as his entire body shakes with it.

“That’s more like it,” Niall says, Harry feeling the man’s hand roughing up his shoulder as he laughs and seems to have finally gotten it down safely.  “ _Now_ you’re laughing and loosening up— _this_ is the way I like you.”

Harry purses his lips and tries not to feel too offended as his dimples deepen, Niall now signaling for the bartender who’s at the other end of the counter.

“Can we get another please?” Niall asks, pulling Harry in and wrapping an arm tightly around his shoulder.  “For my friend, of course.”

Harry’s quickly shaking his head, even as he remains under Niall’s grasp.  “Nope—I’m not doing that strong shit,” Harry says.

“Come _on_ ,” Niall drawls, before beating at his own chest as it appears the affects of the shot aren’t done with him yet.

The bartender has now approached them, and he’s patiently waiting for whether or not any other drinks are going to be ordered as he dries out a glass with a white rag.

“I guess I could use anything light,” Harry settles on.  “ _Much_ lighter than what he had.”

The bartender claims he’s on it as he already begins maneuvering the area behind the counter, Harry feeling uplifted about this as Niall hangs off of him like a scarf and giggles continuously about something Harry’s not even sure of.

Harry does eventually get something down his throat, and he’s grateful that he’s not met with the surprise of whatever the fuck Niall had been feeling when he’d taken a shot of Sunset Rum.  Harry finds himself becoming overjoyed at simply spending time with Niall, and he doesn’t think as he asks for additional shots—definitely doesn’t think about how the sun hasn’t even gone down yet and they’ve both had much to drink.

He doesn’t know if the drinks are actually having an affect on him or if he’s just feeding off of Niall’s addictive energy as the man pulls him out of his seat in order to dance wildly to whatever pop rock song is playing from the jukebox in the corner of the bar.  The man is head banging intensely, Harry following right in line as he becomes aware of how much of a spectacle they’re making of themselves.  He doesn’t care, though—he’s more interested in dancing to this oddly amazing music and strumming the life out of his air guitar.

Their jam session lasts for a while and even intensifies greatly when Bohemian Rhapsody comes on, because both of the men know this song religiously and are now shouting all of the lyrics at the top of their lungs as they clumsily grasp onto each other.

It’s not much longer before they get told they should leave after Niall falls on his ass, bringing one of the bar stools down with him and accidentally tripping a lady that’d been walking by.

Now they’re outside, kicking their restless feet down the sidewalk and not having the ability to stop laughing about everything.

“She should’ve watched where she was fuckin’ going,” Niall chuckles, still hanging off of Harry with an arm around him as he rests his head on his shoulder.

“I’m really upset we didn’t get to finish the song though,” Harry replies, crossing his arms as he grows thoroughly troubled about it, even pouting his lips just a bit.

“We can finish it now!” Niall exclaims, slapping Harry on the arm as he pulls away from him, already beginning to sing the words “Galileo” in a way that’s hardly discernible as everything he’s saying slurs together.

Harry’s just about to harmonize with him when his phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he finds himself reaching for the device like his life depends on it.

Niall’s still singing horribly as they walk, Harry checking whatever text had blessed his phone.

 **Louis:** _I love you too_

Harry comes to a harsh stop, gasping and bringing an arm out in order to even halt Niall from walking any further, which causes the man to grow frustrated as he turns to look at Harry with questioning eyes.

“He…” Harry begins, grinning down at his screen.  “He said he loved me for the first time.”

“ _That’s_ why you stopped my concert?” Niall asks with a smack of his teeth, crossing his arms as he leans his back against the window of some boutique they’d been walking past.

“What does this _mean_?” Harry asks, looking ahead dazedly as he clutches his phone to his chest.  “The first time he said he loved me was over _text_.”  He turns his head to Niall sharply.  “What does this _mean?”_

“It means he _loves_ you, you idiot,” Niall replies, standing up straight and smacking a hand against the back of Harry’s neck as they continue their walk.

“I—I know but—“

“But _nothing_ ,” Niall replies, before burping into his fist.  “You guys love each other, then you hate each other and stop talking, then you’re like— you’re all over each other.  Fuck, I don’t get it,” Niall mumbles as he casts his eyes down upon his feet, appearing to be trying not to step on cracks.  “You guys’ve been doin’ that shit since uni.”

“Whatever,” Harry huffs, crossing his arms once again as he continues to grasp his phone, suddenly feeling a very powerful attachment to it.  “I just wish they didn’t suck him away today.”

“Chill.  You’re gonna see him tonight at the rehearsal dinner, remember?”

“I’m not going,” Harry replies, Niall already slowly shaking his head within seconds of his response.

“We’ll see about that,” Niall says.

Harry ignores how it vaguely sounds like a threat, instead bringing his phone back in front of his face and innocently admiring the text again.

“I don’t know what this means, but I feel really good about it,” Harry declares, smiling brilliantly as he lifts his head in order to let the world see how happy he is.

“We should celebrate.”

Harry draws his eyebrows together as he laughs.  “We've celebrated _enough_ today.”

“I know, but I’m still in the celebrating mood,” Niall says.

Harry’s preparing to reply when Niall comes to an abrupt stop, sticking an arm out in order to halt the both of them like Harry’d done earlier, the man now gaping at the windows of whatever building they’re passing by.

Harry looks over as well, trying to figure out what fascinating thing has caused Niall to _completely_ pause.

What he finds, showcased nicely on a platform right next to the display window, are a pair of purple colored roller skates with white laces that have Harry biting down on his grin.

“ _That’s_ how we’re going to celebrate,” Niall says, raising his eyebrows as he turns to look back at Harry.

Harry shakes his head as he lazily covers his eyes.  “No—we can’t even walk on two feet right now, I haven’t done that in years and it’s not really my thing anymore—“

“Just come on,” Niall grumbles, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him toward the entrance of the store that looks as though it contains everything from antiques to snowboards.

 

~*~

 

The two of them are situated upon a decorative area in a break between the chains of various buildings on the boulevard.  They're sat against the edge of the raised garden platform with the roller skates they’d just bought snug on their feet.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” Harry says with a shake of his head as he finishes up tying his laces, his regular shoes discarded off to the side.  “I don’t know why _you’re_ doing this.”

“Because I’m having a great day, and I’m trying to _continue_ having a great day,” Niall says, resting his hands on his thighs as he rolls his feet around in front of him.  “I’ve checked off _two_ items on my bucket list, and now I wanna have fun with my best friend.”

At this point, Harry knows for certain their time at the bar has definitely gotten to him, because the man has never been one to call anyone his best friend (even though they all know he wants to).

“Two items?” Harry asks.

“Yeah.  Taking that shot and doing a spontaneous flash mob,” Niall replies.

Harry purses his lips as he tilts his head, thoroughly doubtful.  “Not sure dancing like wild chickens and singing off-key counts as a flash mob.”

“Well, I’m just gonna take it,” Niall laughs.  “Now c’mon.  Stop being a wuss.”

“I’m _not_ being a—

“You _are_!” Niall exclaims, probably not even aware of how loud he is as he pulls Harry forth by the material of his shirt collar.  “What happened to the Harry that didn’t give a fuck about anything?  Who did whatever the fuck he wanted, _when_ he wanted, without overthinking it?”

Harry nods his head understandingly as he bites the inside of his cheek, before abruptly pushing himself away from where he’s sat.

“Race you to the street corner then,” he says over his shoulder, already sailing down the sidewalk at high speed as he hears Niall stammer behind him.

Harry’s steering himself through groups of people that are headed both ways upon the sidewalk, and since it’s mildly difficult for himself, he can’t _imagine_ the kind of havoc it’s wreaking on Niall as the man is probably suffering in order to catch up.

He deeply relishes the wind moving over his face whilst he glides, kicking off of his feet as he slides his hands in his pockets, and he realizes that he needed this.  He just hadn’t known it for some reason.

He feels younger, blissfully carefree as some of his hair flutters over his eyes and he has to move it away.  He doesn’t even know why he'd let this go.  Did he become allergic to fun somewhere along the way and he hadn’t even realized it?

When Harry reaches the street corner first, he clings onto the pole for the pedestrian light exhaustedly in order to bring himself to a stop, and he’s not surprised when he looks over his shoulder and finds Niall nowhere in sight.

Harry remains there, his skates rolling against the concrete and his arms wrapped around the pole as he catches his breath.  He takes a moment to simply watch as different people cross the street, and vans, trucks, and cyclists wait for the lights to turn green.

He can’t even believe he’d ever doubted coming on this trip.  He refuses to imagine how much he would’ve given up by listening to his fears and staying behind.  He didn’t know how much he fucking _needed_ this.  He’s somehow grown in only six days and he doesn’t even feel like the same person who’d initially been dragged here, laying in the backseat miserably as Niall drove the car.

Niall comes crashing into him five minutes later, but luckily, Harry doesn’t fall over because he’s still glued to the pole.  Niall, however, does.

“Dude, you got a head start,” Niall mumbles from where he’s on the ground, struggling to get back up.  “That’s not fair.  Rematch.”

“You know I’m just gonna win again, right?” Harry asks as he looks down at the man, who fails once he’s almost properly standing and viciously becomes apart of the concrete again.

“Wait, you know what would be funny?” Niall asks, already vibrating with giggles as he remains rested back on his elbows.  “If we wore these to the rehearsal.”

Harry’s face is lightened very slightly at the thought of it, but he suppresses his interest, resting his head against the pole.  “Pretty sure that’d just make his parents hate me even more.”

“Who cares?  We’re leaving tomorrow anyway.”

“Yeah, but Louis and I are _together_ ,” Harry says.  “I have to at least _try_ to be civilized until after the wedding tomorrow.”

Niall presses his lips together as he thinks profoundly about what Harry’s saying, even though Harry doesn’t know what’s so perplexing about his statement.

“The wedding _is_ tomorrow, isn’t it?” Niall asks, his eyebrows rising for a short moment.  “Wait…oh my _God_.”

Harry becomes puzzled as he looks down at Niall, setting the toe of one of his skates against the ground.  “What?”

“I just realized I didn’t even bring anything to wear to that shit.”

Harry huffs with great annoyance as he rolls his eyes.  “How could you _forget_?”

“I dunno,” Niall replies with more giggles as he looks down at the sidewalk.  “Guess I was too giddy.”

Harry rolls his eyes some more because he suddenly can’t resist.  “I’m pretty sure it won’t matter, anyway.  Just wear a blazer or something.”

“You don’t understand,” Niall says.  “I only brought blue jeans and sleeping clothes.  You _know_ my everyday outfits consist of sleeping clothes.”

He makes a point to gesture at what he’s wearing, which indeed includes dark blue sweatpants that would definitely stick out at a _wedding_ and a comical tee that has some huge pun about cats across it.  The man is right about how consistent his clothing patterns are _—_ the only reason he’d ever even purchased a collared shirt was because he started teaching, and it’s obvious he hadn’t thought about bringing it.

Harry pulls his phone out of his pocket in order to check the time, and he finds that the rehearsal dinner doesn’t start for another three hours.

“Okay.  We have time,” he says, rolling away from the poll in order to bend over and offer his hand to Niall.  “Come on, idiot.”

“So I’m the idiot now, huh?” Niall replies as he gets pulled along by Harry, the man in search of any place that sells even _slightly_ formal apparel.

“Yes, you are.”

 

~*~

 

They go late to the rehearsal dinner, and Harry knows he shouldn’t care because he hadn’t been so _bent_ on going anyway, but it manages to upset him just a tad. 

It’s all _Niall’s_ fault really, with his inability to take many things seriously, as well as his lack of enthusiasm for shopping.

But Harry can’t be _too_ upset, however, because he had a really fun day and feels as though he’s been elbowed out of his comfort zone in a way that hasn’t happened in a while. 

He’s Louis-deprived, though.  He hasn’t seen the man in over seventeen hours and it’s definitely starting to get to him.

They show up to the event, which is taking place in some outrageously fancy hotel ballroom (Harry is _really_ growing sick of hotels), and everyone’s already sitting at the tables and seeming to very much enjoy their small plates of hors d'oeuvres.

Harry pauses once they enter, already feeling increasingly unsettled for two reasons; one, there are a _ton_ of people here—like, a _ton_ , Harry didn’t even know this many people would actually show up for a  _rehearsal dinner_ , and two, he feels under dressed, even though he’s settled on a navy blue cashmere blazer with a black turtle neck underneath.  Maybe it’s because he’s shown up with Niall, who’s dressed in the same thing he’d been wearing all day.

It appears the actual _rehearsal_ part of the night is already done, which is quickly noticeable as they walk their way through round tables of chattering guests in order to reach where Zayn and Liam are sat across the ballroom floor.

Before they actually _get_ there, however, Niall’s interest is averted, which is made clear by the way he grabs onto Harry’s forearm.

Harry’s one second from questioning why they’re stopping when he sees him.

“ _Louis_ ,” Niall says, his smile spreading wide as it seems Louis had been making his way in their direction, an elegantly dressed woman and man following behind him, who of which Harry has never seen in his life.

Harry brushes it off, instead taking in the fact that Louis’ looking _ravishing_ in his short-sleeved button up, complete with dark dress pants and a _bow tie_ at his neck, he looks as cute as a button, and he’s _here_.  In the _flesh_.

“Niall,” Louis says, his voice bearing an odd formality to it as he pulls the man in for a spiritless side hug.

Harry’s already thrumming with determination at _not_ getting the bland hug Niall had received as Louis pulls away from him, but when Louis continues walking, approaching toward Harry…he doesn’t stop.

He simply offers the boy a mechanical grin and a fucking _nod_ as he makes his way past, the two adults following right behind him as they flash Harry their cordial grins as well, and Harry feels as though his heart has fallen to his feet.

As he sinks into himself, he can feel Niall reach out and rub at his back, before leading them the rest of the way in order to sit with Zayn and Liam.

Harry eventually gets himself into the seat next to Liam, holding his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries not to let it get to him.

It was nothing, probably. He was probably in a rush, or something.

He’s not able to properly fall into casual conversation with the rest of them, admire the exquisite centerpiece of roses and decorative napkins, or grin fondly at the fact that Liam is feeding Zayn hors d'oeuvres.

He wouldn’t be so broken right now if Louis had given him the same lackluster hug as Niall, because at least he’d have given him _something_.  A _nod_ though?  A fucking _nod?_

Harry’s mind is moving a thousand miles per hour as he drums his fingers against the peach cloth set on top of the round table.  _Did I do something wrong did something happen between the last time we texted and now is he realizing this isn’t something he wants—_

He’s brought out of his thoughts when he notices something out of the corner of his eye—some _figure, facing_ him, and it causes him to quickly move his eyes in that direction.

Although he catches it for a mere millisecond, his eyes are cast upon Louis’ father, on the far side of the ballroom near the exit as he speaks to one of the male guests who look as though they’re around his age.  He’d been looking at Harry, watching him from afar before Harry had looked back at him—it’s hard to tell though, because of how quickly he’d looked away, but Harry's fairly certain of what just happened.

Harry tries to look away and forget it, because it’s not like he didn’t know Louis’ father had malice toward him anyway.  He’s just not sure if that malice has turned into something more severe, and that’s what’s bothering him.

Harry brings his eyes toward the very front of the room, gazing far away where Louis seems to be messing around with some podium that has a mic on it.  The man is still surrounded by fancy people Harry doesn't know who are looking over his shoulder and talking to him and tapping him and—Harry really has no idea what they're up to, but it's depriving him of the attention he needs from his boyfriend, so he'd really like for them to leave him be for a second.

He quickly digs into the pocket of his blazer, desperate to reread the man's text in order to provide himself some relief in this time of need.

When he finds a new text from _Caleb_ before doing so, his mood begins to drop even more than it already had been.

He taps his phone against the table, clenching his jaw as irritation seems to be taking over.

“Gimme that,” Harry says, reaching for Liam’s untouched glass of red wine and bringing it to his lips. 

He feels he's really made up for the fact that he doesn't allow himself to drink in only a few days.

He just knows that if he’s numb, and hazed, and not able to _feel_ things so harshly, maybe he won’t feel as fucking _heartbroken_ as he does right now, and he’ll stop thinking about it so much.

 _Much_ more time passes, dishes of cubed "vegan cheese" and fig skewers are being passed out, Harry’s had his glass filled twice as the caterers come around to tend to everybody, and he _still_ hasn’t properly spoken to Louis yet.

He fucking _knew_ he shouldn’t have come, and as he sits here, becoming aware of how the wine isn’t doing shit to help his emotions, he grows immensely frustrated at both Niall _and_ Zayn for acting as though he was ridiculous for thinking this was a bad idea.

“God, when are they gonna start _toasting_?” Harry asks, speaking out loud what he’d been planning on keeping in his mind.  “I wanna go home already.”

Zayn and Niall were in the middle of a conversation, but both of them slowly blink as their heads turn to Harry.

“I heard they’re having problems with the mic, so I figure we’re waiting around for that,” Zayn replies with a shrug, a crooked grin spreading upon his lips.  “You should definitely stop drinking, though.”

“No, because it’s all your _fault_.”

Zayn pauses in the midst of picking up one of the skewers, only inches away from taking a bite out of it.  “ _How_?”

“ _Because_ ,” Harry puffs, sniffling as he flares his nose.  “You, with your inspirational speeches, and stupid words.  You made this night a disaster…”  Harry’s words fade out as his voice cracks, and he’s biting particularly hard on his lip as he literally _feels_ the impending tears.

“Please don’t cry in public,” Liam says with a sigh.

“Harry, listen,” Zayn says, leaning his elbows on the table as he watches Harry attempt to keep it all in through sniffles and short breaths.  “Literally _nothing_ is happening.  Nothing.  You’ve just drunken yourself into distress.”

“No, Louis won’t even _talk_ to me,” Harry replies, his words muffled by how his palm is now covering his lips.

“That’s because he’s _busy_ ,” Zayn says, his voice growing a tad more stern and successfully communicating to Harry that he’s acting ridiculous right now.

He doesn’t _feel_ as though he’s acting ridiculous, however, so he keeps going.

He bites down on his hand for a moment as he chokes everything down, before proceeding to speak against his palm some more.  “I want a side hug,” he nearly whines, knowing he has watery eyes.  “I’ll take that at _least_.”

The sound of Niall chuckling into his fist causes Harry’s red-rimmed eyes to shoot at him, the man immediately playing it off as a cough.

Zayn tiredly shakes his head and bites a piece of fig off of his skewer, Niall patting at his own chest as Harry tries not to glare at him.

With every minute that passes, Harry grows more irate at the fact that everyone around him is just so freely enjoying themselves and joyously eating the weird food, and Louis is walking back and forth across the room in Harry’s _line of vision—_ moving from the podium, to his father, to where Elizabeth and all the important people are sitting, and right back to the podium.  It _does_ appear that Louis is busy, but Harry’s in need of a _real_ hug right now from someone he loves.  Elizabeth is snuggled into Jordan as she rests her head on his shoulder, Liam's holding Zayn's hand over the table, and now  _Niall_ is getting fed food by Zayn.  Harry is truly the only one losing tonight.

“What’s _wrong_?” Harry hears to his right, causing him to immediately dart his eyes toward the noise.

His heart softens from its withered, icy state as he looks at Mack, the girl dressed nicely in a bouncy red dress, a flower in her hair as she stands next to his chair.

Harry opens his mouth, his mind a bit slow in realizing it probably shouldn’t spew a bunch of personal stuff to a three year-old.

He instead reaches out, Mack’s eyes almost going crossed as he softly flicks at her nose, before placing his thumb in between his index and middle finger.

“I’ve got your nose,” he laughs, to which Mack gasps and feels around for her missing facial accesory.

“ _Hey_ ,” she says, already moving in order to reach for his hand and get it back.  “Give it _back_!”

Harry raises his hand high in the air, his mood having changed so swiftly in a matter of seconds as he plays around with Mack.  He adores this girl, he really does.  She’s the reason he wouldn’t mind having a child.

As she giggles and hops in order to reach his hand, Harry begins to seriously wonder why he _doesn’t_ have a child.  He wants one of these.  Hopefully he feels the same way when he’s sober.

“Mack!”

The sound of his voice puts an end to all of their playful laughter as Harry looks over to where the girl had been called from, and his eyes widen at the sight of Louis.  The man had been stood just a few feet away from his father when he literally  _called_ the girl over.

Mack blows air out of her cheeks, pouting thoroughly.

“Here,” Harry says, giving her the nose and feeling proud about putting a smile back on her face.

She skips away toward Louis, because he had obviously _called_ her instead of coming all the way over here. 

Harry slumps in his chair, fighting back tears.

He feels a soft hand placed upon his knee, and he probably shouldn’t care about it at all, since he’s past the point of being comforted, but it’s _Liam_ , so he can’t be so hardhearted.

Niall and Zayn hadn’t seen what just happened because they’re busy looking at text updates from the neighbors who are babysitting Canopy, but Liam _had_  seen it, and clearly, he now possesses some type of sympathy toward what Harry's going through.  He _understands_.  Niall and Zayn clearly don’t understand, because they’re joking around like everything’s peachy and acting as though Harry is overreacting.  So much for people who are supposed to be his best friends.

When he hears someone settle into the empty seat to the left of him, he becomes disgruntled, because he’s _already_ not enjoying himself, and now he has to continue not to enjoy himself in the presence of some stranger that has randomly decided to sit at their table.

When he glances to the side briefly, he finds that it’s not some _stranger_ much to his surprise, but _Elizabeth_.

She’s wearing a partially transparent, white maxi dress that looks quite flattering on her, her hair is held up in a neat bun, and she crosses one leg over the other as she sets an elbow on the table, leaning in close to Harry.

“Stop looking like that,” she says, Harry pulling his eyebrows together as he leans in as well, not knowing why they’re talking so lowly and secretively.  “I can see you moping from across the room.”

Harry quickly turns his whining switch back on as he huffs.  “That’s because—“

“Our dad questioned him,” Elizabeth interrupts, her voice even quieter.  “About…you two.”

Harry’s face slowly goes blank, his mind sluggish in processing this small piece of information.

“He accused him of being gay—“

“ _Accused?”_ Harry asks, unaware of how loud he is.  “It’s not a _crime_ to be—“

“ _Shhh_ ,” she says forcefully.  “To our dad it is, okay?  You know that.”

Harry’s starting to grow tired of everyone claiming he knows things.  He doesn’t know _anything,_ especially now that he’s had several glasses of wine.

“Just…” she begins, breathing gently as she motions at him.  “Stop freaking out so much.  Remember what I told you.  He’s just a little boy, picking out dandelions.”

“Well what if those dandelions are _me_?” Harry asks, tears pricking at his eyes as Elizabeth brings her forehead down to her palm.  “What if _I’m_ a dandelion, and instead of swaying in the wind and enjoying the summer breeze, I got picked up and thrown in the _trash?_   Because that’s how I feel right now.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Niall asks incredulously, staring at Harry from across the table.

“I’m a dandelion that just wants love and affection, and instead I get _this_ ,” Harry continues, setting his head down against the table as he sniffles.

“I tried,” Elizabeth says with a sigh, before rubbing Harry on his head and getting up from where she’d been sitting.

“I just wanna be _loved_ ,” Harry murmurs, turning his face over in order to bury his forehead against the table cloth.  “I wanna be _loved!”_

At this point he knows he’s being pretty loud, but he doesn’t care.

He suddenly sits up, digging his phone out of his pocket once again in order to text the man, even though they’re in the same vicinity and Louis is still running around.

 **Harry:** _cn we get a minute alone?_

He pockets his phone before setting his head back against the table with a mild thump, already preparing himself for sadness when he eventually will realize he’s not getting a text back.

He _does_ get a text back, however, five minutes later when he’s lost all hope.

 **Louis:** _I haven’t got a minute_

Harry huffs like a child as he moves to message him back, this time making sure to proofread his text for typos (because the previous one he’d sent was just embarrassing).

 **Harry:** _can you create a minute?  i haven’t seen you in sooooo long_

He settles on sending that, before adding as an afterthought:

 **Harry:** _im dying_

He brings his gaze up in order to scan the area for Louis in the ultimate game of Where’s Waldo that he’s been playing all night, but he can’t seem to find him after a strenuous period of searching.

Harry huffs some more, just in time for one of the caterers to approach their table with a bottle of wine, which causes Harry to quickly lift his glass in order to get it filled.  As soon as the glass is filled and the caterer is finding another table to tend to, Zayn speaks up.

“Liam, can you take that please?”

Harry’s brows furrow, even though the question isn’t directed at him.  “Take what— _hey_.”

His reaction to Liam taking his glass and giving it to Zayn, which results in Zayn pressing a kiss to the man's knuckles in thanks, is quite delayed as he realizes how silently and rapidly they’d plotted against him.

Zayn doesn’t acknowledge how upset he’s made Harry, which pisses Harry off more as he sinks even further into his chair.

Eventually, the rehearsal dinner evolves into couples making use of the fact that there’s an empty area of space in front of the tables, along with the fact that jazz music has been playing continuously throughout the entire night, and pretty soon people are slow dancing, much to Harry’s utter sadness.

Even Liam and Zayn get up to slow dance, and Harry becomes grateful that Niall isn’t choosing to carry out bucket list item number forty-three ( “hook up with a bridesmaid”) right now, and is instead keeping Harry company at this lonely table.

Harry can only take the romantic atmosphere for so long (if ten minutes is long) before getting to his feet, excusing himself to the bathroom out of a need to just get _out_ of here, even if only for a moment.

He hates the stupid smiling, laughing relatives and friends he has to pass through in order to leave the ballroom, he hates the stupid hallway he has to traverse in order to get to the restrooms, and he hates the fucking chic lights and spotless marble sinks he sees once he finally reaches his destination.

He places a trembling hand in his hair as he paces on his unsteady feet, beginning to wonder what he’s doing.  What is he _doing_?

 _This_ is the reality for him and Louis.  Not hooking ankles under a cozy blanket, not studying each other’s eyes until they can memorize every detail, not kissing until they can’t feel their lips, not even _being_ together.

Harry’s _leaving_.  He’s leaving tomorrow, and maybe this is the universe’s way of smacking him upside the head and reminding him that this isn’t going to work. 

“What am I doing?” Harry breathes, before biting down on his fist and snorting with emotion.

He’s such an idiot for even growing some kind of hope about this.  Sure, they’ve been in this fantasy land of vacationing and reuniting and cuddling, but that’s exactly what this is—a _fantasy_.  Life has to go back to normal, Harry has to go back to being _thirteen_ hours away, and Louis has to go back to being the son that his father respects.

Why did they even _start_ this if they knew how it was going to end?

Harry steadily breathes in and out as he sets his hands against the counter of the sink, attempting to suck it all up before going back out.  No reason to drag this breakdown out much longer, because it’s settled.  Harry can’t do this.  Obviously, Louis can’t do this either.  They should just give it up and accept the fact that there’s a reason this didn’t work between them the first time.

Once Harry’s convinced he’s collected himself, he straightens out his blazer before exiting the bathroom, this time making sure not to mutter the word “stupid” under his breath like he’d done on the way here.

Once he’s coming through the double door entrance at the side of the ballroom, he trips over…air (although he could’ve sworn there was a fork left on the ground, or a tiny cube of cheese, or _something_ ) and he loses his balance, which causes him to bring both hands up in order to grip at one of the many gigantic, decorative curtain pieces that outline the entire ballroom.

This doesn’t seem to work though, because all it does is cause the white fabric he’s holding onto to become undone from where it’d been pinned to the wall, which then causes the curtain pieces to begin falling _all around_ as he hits the ground, now watching them come down one by one in what looks like a chaotic chain reaction.  Some people near him are quieting down as they watch the entire train wreck unfold, but Harry tries to ignore everyone's eyes, instead focusing on getting himself out of the heavy fabric he's partially buried under.

“Sorry, I’m—“ Harry begins, shuffling in order to stand up as he hears the last curtain come down, and—great, it falls right on top of the table in the corner that’s stacked with wine bottles and refreshments.  Many of them fall off of the surface and make a faint shattering sound that Harry can even hear from how far he stands.

“I’m…I didn’t mean to do that,” Harry says, finally getting to his feet as he smooths out the sleeves of his jacket.  “I don’t hate the decorations, or anything.”  He swallows as he takes in the many eyes looking at him, and although he's shamefaced right now, he's overly thankful that _most_ of the people here didn’t even notice as they continue to converse and move about the dance floor.

 _Louis_ had noticed, however.

Harry's aware of this, because now he’s looking at where Louis is stood behind the podium.  What looks like a technician is next to him, working on the mic as the man simply pauses what he’s doing and stares at Harry.  Harry's inhales and exhales are shallow as they lock eyes, and at first he feels flowers blooming within his heart, but once he remembers how much of a disaster this night has been, he quickly turns sour.

“So _now_ you look at me?” Harry asks, most of everyone having gone back to their casual selves as Harry stalks over, his eyes already wet and filled with tears.

Louis noticeably bites down on the corner of his lip and shakes his head, bringing his eyes back down to the podium.

“That’s what I have to do to get you to _look_ at me, huh?”

“Harry, stop,” Louis says quietly, although Harry is now close enough to hear it as he nears him.

The technician has paused as well now, watching the exchange as Harry steps up toward him with red eyes and a lump in his throat.

“Not here,” Louis continues, his voice even lower.

Harry’s on the opposite side of the podium as he now stands in front of Louis at the front of the ballroom, but he lets his eyes wander to the area he’d remembered Louis' father to be in.  The man isn’t paying attention as it now seems he’s engaging with a large crowd of people, so Harry’s drunk mind takes this as permission to keep going.

“I’m not asking you to _kiss_ me,” Harry says, choking up slightly as the technican steps back and down from the platform, probably feeling as though he should give them privacy.  “I’m not asking you to _fuck_ me right here in the middle of the floor!”

The technician backs away even further, even though he’d already been about five feet behind.

Louis raises his eyebrows as he braces his hands against the sides of the podium, as though he’s never heard this kind of language in his life.

“What are you asking for then?” Louis asks calmly, although Harry can see him tapping his foot out of impatience.

“I’m just…” Harry huffs shakily, beginning to wonder what it _is_ he’s asking for.  “I just want you to look at me—“

“I am looking at you.”

“No…you’re not doing it in that _way_ you do,” Harry whines, sniffling as he rubs a hand over his eyes.  “When your eyes look like they have stars inside them, and they get _crinkles_ next to them, and you—you just look at me like I’m the best thing in the world, and my stomach does the macarena.”

“The macarena?” Louis asks, and although it’s short-lived, the side of his lip twitches upward just a hint.

“Whatever, I can’t think of better wording right now,” Harry says, shaking his head.  “But you _know_ what I’m talking about,” he continues, leaning against the podium as Louis’ eyes continue to shift all around, Harry certain he knows what they’re in search of.

“Please, Harry,” Louis says, growing nervous.  “Just not right now.  Later, I promise.”

“Do you even love me?” Harry asks, being thoughtful as he brings his voice down a decibel.  “Do you?”  Louis can’t even get a word out before Harry is talking some more.  “Because I love _you._ A _lot_.  Sometimes I feel like I’m even gonna explode with it.  Explode in a burst of rainbows, and candy, and gumdrops, and _all_ that shit.  I’m so in love that at this point, if you don’t love me back, it’s gonna be _so_ embarrassing.”

“I _do,_ ” Louis says, his voice pleading, and also not as quiet as it’d been through this whole exchange.  “You know that.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry replies, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he shakes it in the air pointedly.  “Because I can’t hear you through _text_.”

Louis’ eyes become still as they stare at Harry’s phone, which confuses Harry a bit.  His confusion is heightened even further when the man gently grips the phone in order to look at it more properly.

“You’re still texting him?” he asks softly.

Harry brings his phone to himself in order to look at it, and sure enough, front and center on the screen is a new text from Caleb about how they need to talk this out.

For a moment, he’s flustered and conflicted in many ways as he looks down at his phone as though he’s never seen a text before and Louis looks at him as though he’s trying to figure out how to look brokenhearted and pissed simultaneously.

“Why do you care?” Harry asks, forcing himself back into an angry state.  “You can’t even say you love me in person.”

With that, Harry steps down from the platform and walks away, intent to reach the double doors once again and leave this place entirely.  He’ll probably catch a cab and cry in the backseat thinking about how much of a mistake all of this was.

“Harry, I _do_ love you.”

The words are heard from behind him once he’s a great distance away from the podium and within two feet of the exit, and they cause him to pause completely.  His hands are frozen in the air, his heart is frozen in his chest, and his mouth is frozen open.

Because the “Harry” part had been faint and spoken at regular volume, but the “I _do_ love you” part had been said into a loud, working microphone, which is why both Harry and most of the people in the ballroom have stopped what they’re doing in order to listen.

Harry slowly turns around, his eyes growing as he watches Louis scratch behind his ear from afar.  He wants to tell the boy it’s okay.  He didn’t say _Harry’s_ name on the mic, so he should just claim he was testing it out so that everyone can go back to normal, because now his father is watching, and everyone’s _waiting,_ and Harry’s insides are turning to mush.

“Guess this thing _is_ on,” Louis jokes, tapping at the mic as he procures everyone’s puzzled attention.  “No need to ask the generic question.”

Harry releases the breath he’d been holding, already stepping back with one foot and beginning to grow certain that Louis’ just going to tell everyone to carry on—

“But Harry.  I _do_ love you.  So much,” he continues, and Harry is once again a frozen statue as _countless_  eyes shoot toward him within seconds.  “I’m _in_ love with you.”

Harry’s more than positive he’s dreaming as this happens—as it just _continues_ to happen, and Louis doesn’t take his eyes off of him, and everyone is watching with mouths that are zipped shut.

“I…” Louis begins, parting his lips as it seems his words are getting more difficult to say.  He turns his head to the side, bringing his eyes over to the general area where his father remains, Harry keeping his eyes straight ahead as he does it.  Harry already knows for a fact that his dad is paying attention, and it seems Louis quickly discovers this as well as he turns back forward, swallowing with a quiver.

“I’ve been in love with you since you kissed me outside of your apartment that night,” Louis says.  There are some interested murmurs that sound blurry in Harry’s ears as he keeps his gaze forward.  “Actually—I was in love with you before then, but that was when it became most clear to me.  I didn’t acknowledge it until the second you walked away and I’ve regretted that for five long, _excruciating_ years.”

He chokes on his words a little, shaking his head down at the podium before bringing his eyes back up to Harry.  “There’s so many ways in which I’ve fucked up and treated you badly enough for you to walk away, but I can’t let that happen now that I’ve finally got you,” Louis says, and Harry feels his shoulders come down, not even _knowing_ he’d been tensed up until now as he lets Louis’ words cover him like a blanket of love.

“Harry.  Sweetheart.  Angel,” Louis continues, his voice endlessly tender and his eyes genuine as Harry melts even more than he thought was possible.  “You are the love of my life.  I haven’t found anyone who’s come close to being as important as you are to me, and that _means_ something.”

Harry hadn’t even known tears were trailing down his cheeks until he feels one drip off of his chin.  His lips are curved lopsidedly in as much of a grin as he can muster while welling at the eyes, and he doesn’t know what he wants to say.  He doesn’t know what he wants to _think_.

He _does_ know what he wants to do though.

The deafening sound of one of the doors slamming from across the room puts a crack in Harry’s happy crying, and he looks over to find that Louis’ father has stormed out of one of the exits he’d been standing near.  It punctures something within Harry, only because he knows how much it hurts Louis.

Harry then brings his eyes to their family table, just to see how much damage has been done. 

What he finds shocks him slightly, because Louis’ mother is absolutely beaming—grinning from _ear to ear_ as she holds Mack in her lap, the little girl pointing at Harry while excitedly telling something to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth grinning proudly as she holds hands with her husband on top of the table.

Harry shifts his gaze some more, back in front of him as Louis remains behind the podium, the man seeming as though he’d been waiting for their eyes to meet again as his lips stretch into a crooked grin and he shrugs his shoulders pointlessly.

Harry moves on quick feet, walking up to the podium with the determination of a fox as he powerfully wipes his sleeve across his wet eyes in order to dry them.  He gets right up to the man with outstretched arms and grabby hands that are reaching out for him, caressing one behind his neck and one against his cheek in order to kiss him with every ounce of passion he has.

Louis embraces him right back, holding onto Harry’s elbows and allowing himself to be kissed, Harry tuning out every other sound around them that isn’t Louis’ heavenly breathing, the smacking of their lips, or the beating of his man’s heart.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡ next chapter is the last chapter ♡


	17. Chapter 17

 

 

It appears as though the hours of deep nighttime are beginning to pass and the sun is preparing to come up, because Louis’ certain everything isn’t as dark as before.

Or maybe this is just his body reacting weirdly to the fact that it’s almost five a.m., and it’s trying to communicate to him that he should probably sleep in order to replenish.

Louis doesn’t want to sleep though.  He has absolutely no desire to, because all it means is that he’s going to spend more time _not_ enjoying Harry.

They’ve been awake for _hours_ now.  The rest of them had gone to sleep almost instantly once they’d gotten back from the rehearsal dinner, but not Louis and Harry.

They had a lot of sex.  They did, and Louis doesn’t have one problem acknowledging it.  He could even yell it out _loud_ if he wanted to, but people are asleep and he’s pretty sure that’s not something everyone wants to hear.  Although they might’ve heard it around midnight already.

It’s a freeing sensation, bearing the knowledge that he can comfortably think about it and talk about it and _do_ it without putting himself down.  There’s no way he can put himself down when he’s so fucking happy.  Not when Harry’s smiling at him in a way that Louis believes can heal any wound.  He _refuses_ to sulk about any of this when they’re both thriving so beautifully.

After their…activities, they’d somehow still found the energy to slip on some roller skates Harry and Niall had apparently purchased for some reason, and they’d rolled around the entirety of the suite, Harry eagerly pulling him every which way as they both giggled and struggled to keep the noise level down.  They eventually had to take it out into the hallway because they needed more space, and they’d even raced from one end of the hall to the other.  Harry won three of the four races they'd done of course, because Louis’ still an amateur and he’s like a toddler on wheels.  He knows Harry had let him win the fourth one, which was cute.  The man probably expected a kiss because of it, but all Louis did was rub it in his face obnoxiously. 

They’d apparently been disruptively noisy in the hall, not even realizing it until it was brought to their attention by one of the members of the staff that someone had made a complaint.  She then proceeded to “suggest” they continue their shenanigans inside of their suite.

They’d removed their skates once their ankles got tired, but it didn’t seem the exhaustion had gotten to them yet as they chased each other around the suite, Louis now not even _remembering_ why Harry had been running after him—he thinks he said something cheeky about Harry’s nipples, or something.  The night has been much too long for him to remember.  All he knows for sure is how warm and fuzzy he felt when Harry caught up to him and lifted him from behind, Louis yelling to be put down even though that was far from what he’d wanted.

Their lazier hours were spent eating old room service that one of the others had ordered who _knows_ how long ago, which consisted of biscuits and various arrangements of chicken. The food tasted much like the tiny fridge they’d gotten them out of, but Louis couldn’t bring himself to care.  Halfheartedly eating evolved into them laying in front of the television as the night became morning, thoroughly analyzing the late night infomercials and not having a sleepy bone in their bodies.

That was about an hour ago, but now they’re still laid over the carpet in front of the television, Harry with one arm draped over Louis’ chest as Louis faces the screen, the both of them taking part in some ridiculous alphabet game.

They’re both snapping in time with each other, attempting to stay on tempo and go back and forth, naming animals in alphabetical order by the first letter.  They’ve had to start over multiple times, mainly because Harry keeps losing quickly and claiming he just "wasn’t ready" or that Louis’ snapping threw him off.  Excuses, excuses.

Right now, however, they seem to have gotten exceptionally far as they _finally_ near the end of the alphabet.

Of course, the record length is ended when Louis says “xantus”, and Harry becomes taken aback, obviously not having been prepared for Louis to actually get through ‘X’.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Louis groans, pressing the back of his palm to his head as Harry sits up, his mouth hung open.

“What the heck is _xantus_?” Harry asks.  “That’s not even a word.”

“It’s a type of _humming_ bird,” Louis says, sitting up along with the man as he turns in order to face him.

Harry shakes his head, bringing it down in order to rub his palm over his face.  “I totally expected you to bomb that.”

“There’s a lesson for you.  Never underestimate me,” Louis says with a sweet grin, Harry shyly grinning at him right back as he peeks through his fingers. “Just come on.  Let’s keep going.”  Louis gets right back into snapping, intent to finish this even though how far they’ve gotten has no meaning anymore.

Harry gets into it as well, taking a breath as he seems to think about it.

Louis really wishes he’d spent more time thinking about it before blurting.

“Yeti,” Harry says, continuing to snap as Louis drops his hands in his lap.

“You’re _kidding_ ,” Louis says, attempting to look at Harry with disappointment but finding himself appearing to be fondly amused.

“I’m not.”

“First of all, the Yeti isn’t an animal,” Louis begins.  “And second, it isn’t even _real_.”

“Okay, now you’re just making up rules as you go,” Harry says, wrinkling his nose.  “Who said it had to be _real_?”

“At the very least, it should be an animal.”

“The Yeti _is_ an animal,” Harry protests, Louis already shaking his head dismissively.

They get into a joking squabble about whether or not it’s an animal, Harry even offering to pull out _Google_ in order to back up his claim that the Yeti is an ape.  Once Louis accepts this offer, and Harry’s dashing across the room to reach for his phone and search up on the facts, Louis finds himself holding back a grin.  It’s quite satisfying to watch Harry’s speedy confidence vanish into thin air, the man lowering his phone from his face as he walks back over in order to sit in front of Louis once again.

Louis cocks his head as he crosses his arms, stretching one of his legs out in order to poke his toes at the man’s knee.  “What’d you find?”

Harry brings his eyes up to Louis, faintly shaking his head as his dimples create shadows in his cheeks due to the television light coming from behind Louis.  Louis grins smugly as he shrugs his shoulders, because he knew he was right.

Harry tosses his phone to the side, literally _pouncing_ on Louis as he climbs on top of him, Louis finding himself on his back as he and Harry’s palms wrestle against each other, the both of them short of breath as they chuckle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Harry says, attempting to add a threatening edge to his tone and instead sounding silly.

“So I beat you in the race _and_ at this?” Louis asks, Harry breaking their grasp as he digs his face into Louis’ neck.

“Don’t make me bite you,” he murmurs, Louis already inching away from it as he wraps a leg around Harry’s thigh.

“No— _please_ ,” Louis breathes, weakly attempting to push him away as Harry’s teeth graze the skin of his neck.  “It tickles too much.”

“Too late now,” Harry says, although Louis still tries to shy away and plead for forgiveness as Harry makes low, cat-like noises.

The only thing that causes them both to gradually pause is the sound of one of the bedroom doors opening, everything past the main area of the suite being too dark for Louis to know who’s approaching.

It becomes clear which one had opened the door once the previously dark figure of Liam steps within the ray of television light, the man taking a seat upon the armrest of the couch.

“I’m happy for your relationship.  I really am,” Liam says, his voice gentle as he raises pinched fingers in the air, Louis still underneath Harry as he looks at Liam, Harry still clumsily sprawled on top of Louis as he looks over his shoulder.  “But I will not hesitate to murder both of you if I ever find myself waking up again before I’m supposed to.”

Louis and Harry are stilled in their positions as they blink at him.

“So please,” he says.  “Quiet down.”

“Noted,” Harry says, nodding once as Louis does the same.

Liam accepts their understanding as he gets up and turns around, walking back to his bedroom just as slowly as he’d walked out.

They’re silent for just a beat longer before they eventually burst with quiet giggles, Harry falling into his chest as they go limp against one another.

“God, he’s like one of those snapping turtles,” Harry whispers, his face close to Louis’.  “No wonder he and Canopy have never gotten along.”

Louis laughs wholeheartedly, snorting as he shakes his head.  “Zayn would probably hate you if he’d heard you say that,’ Louis says, wrapping his arm around Harry as the man gets settled against his shoulder.

“I can imagine,” Harry replies, tracing his fingers over the zipper ridges of Louis' open hoodie.  “He believes Liam is an angel sent to him from heaven.”

“You never know.  It _could_  be true,” Louis says, to which Harry shifts his head in order to look at Louis more properly and check if he’s serious.  “It happened to me, so I don’t doubt it’d happen to Zayn.”

Harry breaks into a smile as he buries his blush into Louis’ neck.  “ _Stop_ ,” he mumbles, dragging the word out.

“Never,” Louis replies, sliding his palm up under the man’s shirt and pulling him in with fingers against his bare waist.

They’re both silent for a moment, Louis gently closing his eyes to the feeling of Harry’s breaths against the crook of his neck.

“I probably shouldn’t be staying up this late,” Louis says, stroking his thumb against Harry’s skin.  “Since I’m, you know, a groomsman at a wedding that’s happening tomorrow.”

“Today, actually,” Harry corrects him.

“Yep,” Louis replies, keeping his eyes closed as he becomes overwhelmed at just the thought of it.  “Today.”

Harry hooks his ankle around Louis’, pulling him in closer by his shoulders as he brings his body in impossibly snug, burying his words into Louis’ neck.  “Don’t want you to leave me.”  He moans and groans melodramatically, emitting laughter from Louis’ lips as he holds him.

“I’m still with you right now,” Louis reassures him.  “And at the reception, we’ll see each other again.  We won’t spend much time apart, if you really think about it.”

“You’ll probably still be busy,” Harry says.  “Speaking with relatives and stuff.”

“I will, and I’ll have you right by my side through all of it.”

He can feel the man smile against his skin.  “Are you gonna make time for us to slow dance?”

“Of course.”

“I need at least an hour set aside for slow dancing.”

Louis grins, nodding his head as his eyes remain closed.  “You’ve got it.”

“Actually…two.”

Louis chuckles breathily, faintly wondering why he still doesn’t feel tired.  “However long you need, I’ll set aside time.  I’ll give you all the time in the world.”

Harry’s voice is quieter as he runs the knuckles of his fingers against Louis’ jaw, their steady breaths beginning to match.  “What about after the reception?”

The question startles Louis, but he doesn’t make it known on the surface as he stays perfectly still and analyzes it.  There’s no point in pondering over the meaning of it, because he’s certain it’s quite clear to the both of them.  As always, Harry is going for the elephant in the room that both of them have been afraid to poke at for days now.

Louis is thinking of a straightforward answer to that question, but it’s hard to form one when he hasn’t even properly allowed himself to think about this kind of thing.

He’s saved by the bell when the serene atmosphere is interrupted by the sound of his phone dinging as it sits on the coffee table, and Louis doesn’t detach himself from Harry _solely_ because he wants to dodge the question—there are…family _issues_ going on right now; no one knows where his father is, everyone’s worried, and Louis has been getting occasional updates from Elizabeth.

Louis is aware he has reasons to feel guilty, horrible, and ashamed right now, what with making a scene at the rehearsal dinner, taking the attention of the event away from his sister, angering his father, and probably making certain guests uneasy, but oddly enough, he doesn't feel an ounce of guilt. 

He'd already planned on doing it—the whole, throwing a middle finger up to the entire world and openly being with Harry thing, and his plans to do it were  _strengthened_ when his father made it known how disappointed he would be if Louis and Harry were together.  Louis just didn't know  _when_ he was going to do it.  Louis saw the opportunity and snatched it—Harry was being (almost hilariously) hysterical, all of his family members were around (extended _and_ immediate), and the microphone started working at the  _perfect_  moment for God's sake.  The universe basically gave him the blueprint for a cliché romantic moment ( _yes,_ he's finally given into Harry and has started believing in the universe and all that shit)—one of those saccharine gestures he always used to promise himself he'd never take part in, which was exactly why he went for it. 

He's done staying in this constrained box of safety that he's shoved himself into for years, and he'd figured what better way to show that than to do the one thing he'd never do?  He doesn't regret it, and he never will.  The rest of the night only showcased to him how great of a decision that was, because he threw all his responsibilities away and dedicated the rest of his time to Harry, sitting with Harry in his lap during the toast, growing tipsy with Harry as he'd helped himself to the endless red wine, and stumbling into the hotel suite with Harry attached to him, the man just about knocking his breath out with how rapidly he'd pushed him onto the couch once they'd entered. 

Louis’ kneeled by the coffee table, Harry now sat up as he watches him stare down at his screen from a few feet away.

“Any news on your dad?” Harry asks, his knees pulled up as he rests his arms upon them.

Louis purses his lips as he looks down at a text from his sister telling him she still hasn’t heard from their father, and he shakes his head.  “Nope.”

He gently places his phone back on the coffee table behind him, not knowing what to feel as he and Harry sit apart from each other, quiet and conflicted.

“For a man who’s much older than me, he sure knows how to throw a tantrum,” Louis says, to which Harry lets loose and giggles.

Harry pauses mid-giggle shortly after, sufficiently grabbing Louis’ attention as he seems to space out just a little.  “I’ve just realized something.  Your dad and my mum aren’t all that different.”

Louis nods slowly as he joins his fingers together and thinks on it, and he quickly finds that he’s definitely right.  He almost can’t fathom how he hadn’t properly realized this until now.

“They’re like two parallels,” Harry continues, putting up the index fingers of both hands, placing them close to each other.  “They’d probably get on really well.”

“Maybe there’s a universe where they’re good friends,” Louis says, already knowing that simple statement is going to send Harry into a frenzy of stupefaction.

Harry takes in a fair amount of breath, his eyes twinkling as he blinks at Louis.  “That would change like,  _so_ many things.  Would we even know each other?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Louis says, his eyes falling to slits as he ponders the idea and scratches at his elbow.  “In alternate universes, everything changes.  I probably wouldn’t even be born.”

“No—nope, let’s not think about this,” Harry says, shaking his head vigorously as he burrows his face in his knees.  “I’m just thankful that I’m here, and I’m in _this_ universe with you.”

Louis' lips curve warmly on each side as the distance between them begins to become too much, Louis now accepting the fact that he always wants to be wrapped around Harry.

“Like.  _Very_ thankful,” Harry adds, scooting a foot closer and bringing Louis to believe they must be communicating telepathically.

“Like, _totally_ thankful?” Louis asks, scooting up to Harry as well, about half a foot left between them as he takes one of the man’s hands in his.

“Totally,” Harry replies, beaming happily.  “Because I’m like, very in love with you, and I kinda think I wanna spend the rest of my life with you if that’s okay dude.”

“It is,” Louis replies with a nod and an almost painfully huge grin.

“Great, then it’s settled,” Harry says, bringing his face forward so that his nose brushes against Louis’.  “We’re devoted to each other for life.”

“You should prove some of your devotion by helping me sleep so I don’t pass out during the ceremony today,” Louis replies, rubbing his nose against Harry’s as he strokes his palm where their hands are still attached.

“My pleasure,” Harry says, his tone suggestively low.  In a matter of seconds he's already shifting in order to get on all fours as his nose continues to touch Louis’, and soon he’s crawling over him, their lips attached as Louis’ hands come up to cup at his neck.

“I didn’t mean it like _this_ ,” Louis giggles in between kisses, even as he’s being pressed against the foot of the couch, their legs becoming intertwined.  He can’t help that his breath catches when he feels the man suck against his jaw, the closeness of their bodies already starting to get Louis in the same hot-blooded mood he’d been in nearly _five_ hours ago when they’d last done this.

Harry’s lips eventually come back up to meet his, one of his hands coming up under Louis’ thigh in order to pull them flush against one another, Louis feeling heat rising at every location of his body as Harry moves down against him.

He detaches their lips for a moment, breathing heavily as their foreheads remain rested against each other.

Harry pauses his movements, halting all of his eager grinding and pecking as he looks at Louis with alluringly pink lips and eyes that glisten in the dark.

“By the way, I love you too,” Louis whispers, running a thumb over his man’s bottom lip.

Harry closes his eyes tight, Louis growing lovingly sick of his absurd behavior.  “Say it again.  I’m close.”

“Shut up,” Louis laughs with a shove against his chest, Harry diving right back in and peppering his neck with deep love bites.

Louis _does_ say it again, just because of how beautiful it sounds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Look at him,” Liam says, leaning into where Zayn is sat next to him, although everyone can hear what he’s saying.

Harry’s not really paying any mind to what he’s saying, however, just as he hasn’t paid any mind to whatever the rest of the men have been talking about since they’d first sat down in this restaurant.  He’s instead been focused on the scads of text messages he and Louis have been sending back and forth, the man making sure to update him constantly, just as he’d promised before he’d left Harry many hours ago.

“I think it’s cute,” Zayn replies, sat in the booth across from Harry, Harry not being able to see his face because of how he has his own phone held out in front of him.

Harry’s just gotten a message from Louis about how he wishes he were there with them because of the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything and can hardly find a break to at least shove a piece of gum into his mouth.  In response, Harry frowns, sending the man a plethora of sad faces and promising he’ll save some of his flatbread for him.

When he gets back an equally bountiful plethora of various heart emojis, he isn’t even aware of how openly he’s giggling at his phone.

“Yep.  He’s definitely in the honeymoon phase,” he hears Niall say from his left.

“You know I can _hear_ you, right?” Harry asks, his eyes still not having left his phone as he continues to text Louis as though it’s his job.  It kind of is though, because they’re apart right now, and he has to keep the man happy throughout his eventful day and convince him the ceremony’s going to go perfectly despite his useless worrying.

“Yeah, and I wanna let you know you’re in the honeymoon phase,” Niall replies, picking his glass up in order to sip from his straw for a moment.  “It’s nothing bad, really.  Everyone goes through it.”

“Let him _live_ ,” Zayn says, Harry noticing how he gently kicks Niall under the table.  “Me and Liam’s honeymoon phase still hasn’t ended, so I don’t think his will either.”

Harry grins, finally bringing his eyes just a few inches up from his phone in order to look at Zayn.  “Thank you.”

“I’m disappointed though,” Liam says, bringing his chin to rest on Zayn's shoulder as he pouts at the man.  “When are you gonna publicly declare your love for me in a room full of people?”

Zayn coos, digging his nose into the side of Liam’s face as Liam grows blushy.  “It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it?” Zayn asks, grabbing Liam’s face between both hands and pressing a sweet kiss on his nose.  Liam wipes it off dramatically, even as Zayn continues to hold him and snuggle in beside him.

Harry can’t help but watch them and think about how awesome it is that he and Louis can now do the cute things Liam and Zayn do.  They can do it in _public_ , and he really wishes the man were here right now so that could happen.  It’s a beautiful thing, knowing that Louis won’t pull away, or walk past him, or _nod_ at him mechanically.

He and Louis had already shared an in depth discussion throughout the many hours they’d been awake last night, Harry sobering up bit by bit and desperately wanting to make sure Louis hadn’t felt pressured at the rehearsal dinner. The man had vehemently denied the notion, and Harry believed him, especially because Louis had many opportunities to play it off.  Apparently, he’d decided to just “go for it” because of how much he loves Harry and how the fear of letting go of him  _again_  was much greater than any fear of condemnation from his father, and Harry had absolutely swooned.  He’s even swooning _now_ as he thinks about it.

Harry knows how much it took for Louis to just speak out loud like that last night, and he’ll forever love and cherish that moment for the rest of his life.  Louis had called him _sweetheart_ and _angel_  shamelessly, in front of _everybody,_ and Harry’s stomach still feels like melting fudge whenever he thinks about it.  He definitely needs to be called sweetheart and angel more often—like, _everyday,_  if that’s fine.

The thought actually causes him to bring his attention back to his phone, just to put in his request that Louis call him these sappy nicknames at least twice a day.

As positively happy as he is right now, he can’t help that a certain _thing_ has been in the back of his mind all day.  He’s literally supposed to be walking back through the front door of his flat _tonight_ , because they’re leaving, and they can’t stay in vacation land forever.  He knows with everything in his heart that it’s not going to change anything between him and Louis—he’s actually _positive_ this time—but he wishes they would just talk about it.  He’d tried to bring it up during the early hours of the morning when they were attached to each other at every limb, but they’d gotten interrupted, and Harry lost the courage to bring it up again.  Simply  _asking_ about it had taken insane amounts of strength for Harry to do.

“So when are you gonna eat?” Liam asks, snapping Harry right out of his turmoil and causing him to look up.

Harry looks down at his plate, still full with the flatbread sandwiches he'd gotten, and realizes he definitely hasn’t turned his attention away from his phone in order to do what one is typically supposed to do at a restaurant.

“I’ll save this for Louis,” he says, already looking for a waiter in order to request a to-go box.

He figures it won’t be _that_ bad, attending a wedding on an empty stomach.

 

~*~

 

Harry loves _love_.  He always has, but today that feeling is even more so, since it seems he’s being surrounded by it at every turn.

He’d had to make many double takes upon filing into the venue and looking up, and yeah, there’s definitely an acrobat way up high, hanging by two pieces of silk and causing Harry’s heart to jump whenever he thinks about it.  She looks beautiful though.

He hadn’t gotten a chance to see Louis before the wedding, which he completely understands.

It doesn’t make him any more prepared for when he _does_ see Louis, and he’s growing tired of having to watch the man look so good.

The attire for the groomsmen consists of bright silver braces that attach to their similar colored slacks, the man’s hair is styled back in a neat quiff that Harry absolutely needs to mess up a little, and Harry’s certain he’s never been so happy to see a groomsman.

The wedding is pleasant.  He doesn’t have any other weddings to compare it to since this is his first, but he’s pretty sure that, as the acrobat continues to give him anxiety from several feet up high, white doves are flying back and forth across the ceiling, and Elizabeth’s wedding dress is out of this world as it flows behind her for many miles, he can make the judgement that this is one of the more extravagant weddings.

He just wishes they hadn't invited so many  _people_ , though.  Once Louis is actually up at the front with all of the other groomsmen, Harry can’t even see because of how far back he is, and he feels like he’s in grade school all over again, reliving a time where he was too short to see over anyone’s head.  He decides to just be grateful and hold onto the gift of having gotten a glimpse of his scorching hot man as he was making his way up.

He’s actually a bit envious, if he’s being honest.  He doesn’t know how to top this if he gets married as well.

 _Not_ that he’s getting married—he’s not sure…what Louis thinks of that.  Or if he would even want it down the road.  He certainly isn’t going to rush into begging for a wedding and scare the crap out of Louis right when they've started things up. 

 _Harry's_ ready though.  He’s _beyond_ ready—actually, if immediately after Elizabeth and Jordan say their vows, the officiant asks if anyone else wants to get married on the _spot_ , Harry would be up there in a jiffy, and he’s not ashamed of that.

As Harry’s sitting there, idly powering through the usual boring parts of the wedding where the officiant is talking endlessly, he takes a moment to relish all the love in the room as various partners sit by each other, hold hands, and look forth with glimmering eyes, probably hoping they'll be next.  He can’t _fully_ just sigh happily and enjoy all the sentiment, however, because as his eyes wander the room, they repeatedly fall upon the front row near the altar.  The place where their father is supposed to be.  Elizabeth's uncle had walked her down the aisle, which of course had people murmuring under their breath.  All Harry can do is cross his fingers and pray their father eventually comes around and realizes that his fucking _children_ matter more than his pathetic, homophobic shit.  Pray that the man isn’t _exactly_ like Harry’s mother, and that he’d been wrong about that.  He _really_ doesn’t want Louis to have to suffer through that reality and carry the emotional baggage of his father permanently cutting all ties with them.

There comes a point where the ceremony has reached its end, and after a while of hardly being able to see Louis from afar, Harry gets another chance to check him out as the groomsmen are making their exit, and he’s just as awed by his sharp appearance as he’d been forty-five minutes ago.

The wedding reception is at a venue outside, and they have to travel to get there, much to Harry’s dismay because he’d just wanted to immediately jump into Louis’ arms after the ceremony.  The reception is just as strikingly magnificent as the wedding, if not more, with long, ribbon tied tables and chairs decorating the area and streams of white lights up above and hanging all throughout.  There’s even a huge fountain at the core of it, the dozens of attendants to the wedding (even _more_ now, it seems) moving around it as they converse excitedly with relatives and friends and ask of where the newly-wed couple is.

It takes Harry a while to find him as he remains with the boys and they make pointless, almost ironic conversation with the many strangers at the reception.  His eyes just casually glide over and simply fall upon him, the man’s back turned as he hugs a group of people one by one.

Harry doesn’t even announce that he’s excusing himself before silently slipping away.  He walks up until he’s about a good foot behind the man, patiently waiting for him to finish thanking them for coming, along with all those other formal sayings, and as soon as they walk away, Harry comes up close to him with both hands to his shoulders.

“You look hot,” he says an inch from his ear, Louis only flinching a bit in surprise.

He turns around with wide blinking eyes, a smile already sprouting on his face as the sun contributes to the vibrancy of his blue eyes.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Louis replies, his grin permanent as Harry makes a dramatic show of looking up and twirling around.  He _does_ take pride in this get-up though, because it’s rare that he wears actual tuxedos anyway, and he feels quite comfy in this navy blue fitted ensemble he’s got on today.

Louis giggles at him, although it’s noticeably strained, as though he’s growing nervous and trying to suppress it, which is completely understandable.  It’s even more noticeable when he looks around just a little, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Harry slides his hands into his pockets as he keeps his eyes locked on Louis’, knowing that everything’s still moving around them but trying with his gaze to make them feel alone.

“It’s okay,” Harry says quietly, gently in order to soothe him out of whatever worry has gotten to him.

He’s communicating to him that it’s okay that he’s nervous, okay that he may even be scared, and okay if he’s realizing he doesn’t want to be so public with everything just yet.  Harry will wait until he’s comfortable, and it’ll be okay.

When Louis steps forward and brings his arms up to wrap around Harry’s neck, Harry doesn’t even have to think about it before hugging him right back, his arms stretching across his waist and bringing him in as that signature warmth the boy always carries around begins to be felt by him.

Harry’s dimpled grin is buried in his shoulder, and he even presses a kiss into it.  He's overcome with warmth once they pull away, Louis’ hand sliding down his arm until it softly grasps onto his palm.

“Come on.  You’ll love my grandparents,” Louis says, moving in order to pull Harry along.  Harry allows himself to be tugged, following like a delirious, lovesick puppy, because that’s exactly what he is.

Harry knows with no doubt in his mind that Louis is aware of how much his palm is sweating because they’re _holding hands_ , but the man doesn't seem to mind it as they continue to move around the reception area and speak with several of Louis’ relatives, along with guests that continue to stop them, including one friend of Jordan’s who claims he’s never seen a couple so “adorable”.

And even as promised, once the newlyweds have done all of their dances, more toasts have been made, and both Harry and Louis fail at attempting to eat along with everyone else because of the fact that Louis keeps getting called over to different places, they finally get a moment to slow dance.  They do it right in the middle of the grass amidst everyone else, Louis’ head nestled comfortably in Harry's shoulder where it'd always fit, and Harry wondering how he got so lucky.

“I hope you know I can see my mum filming us right now,” Louis says quietly against the fabric of his suit.

Harry laughs lightly.  “I’ll make sure to ask her for the video later, then.”

They hold each other and sway around to several smooth songs, Harry’s eyes closed, his heartbeat reduced to a steady wave, and his mind so clouded by the warmth of Louis’ fingertips against his neck that he isn’t aware of how long they remain like this.  At one point, he  _does_ become aware of the fact that they may be the only ones left on the grass slow dancing—they may even be the only ones left at the _reception,_ but Harry doesn’t care.  After the reception they’re supposed to be getting right into Niall’s van.  That’s supposed to be the end of it, and Harry isn’t _ready_ for the end of it, which is why he never wants this moment to be over.

The thought of it causes tears to sting at his eyes as he keeps them closed, but he gulps the emotion down, instead gripping onto Louis a hint tighter as he attempts to alleviate the pain.

A time comes where Harry’s almost sure they’re thinking about it at the exact same time, because he feels the boy nestle in closer to him and delicately stroke the hairs at the nape of his neck at the same time as Harry subtly hugs him closer.

He’s _certain_ their thoughts are aligned when Louis says something for the first time in what seems like eons.

“Harry, I need to talk to you.”

The words cause Harry to still, his eyes fluttering open and his mind finally becoming quiet.  They detach partially, Louis’ hand sliding down to hold his hand just like earlier as they gaze at each other.

“What?” Harry asks, although it comes out as a single breath as Louis begins pulling him along.

Louis doesn’t say anything as he leads Harry through the scatterings of guests, their fingers intertwined—although Louis' fingers are a bit loose and not holding on as _tight_ as Harry thinks they should be.  Harry’s heart race is nowhere near steady as Louis comes over to the fountain that he’d been admiring when they’d first arrived at the venue, sitting along the edge of it and inviting Harry to sit down as well.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow, and he only swallows once as Louis’ thumb moves across his hand in that _way_ he always does that soothes Harry instantly.  It _doesn't_ work right now, however, because the only thing running through his mind is  _what is he soothing me for?  what’s happening oh my GOD_

Louis draws in a breath, although the sound of it is barely heard over the sprinkling and movement of the water right next to them.

“I just…” Louis begins, his eyes concentrated on their hands upon his thigh.  “I…don’t really know how to say this, actually.”

 _Fuck_.  Fuck fuck _fuck_.

“You don’t have to,” Harry says, forcing a tiny grin as he shakes his head.  “You can just…wait until later, when you’re more comfortable.”

Louis shakes his head, crossing his ankles over one another.  “No, I—I need to say this now."

Harry nods in understanding, his lips parted and his entire body beginning to prepare for doom.

“I…” he takes another deep breath, finally bringing his gaze up to Harry.  “I just feel like I’ve spent so much of my life making sure everything is perfect, and never leaving room for failure.”

Harry nods, hanging onto this man’s every word even though it feels like he’s about to slip from a cliff.

“It’s the reason it took us so long to get here,” Louis says, lifting their hands pointedly as Harry swallows some more.  “It’s the reason you’re about to go back to being so fucking far away and I’m gonna be stuck _here_ , going back to the job I hate.”

As Harry can hear a crowd of squealing, eager women just a few feet away getting prepared to catch the bouquet, he can’t imagine how everything can be so festive around him while he’s sitting here falling apart.  Can the atmosphere of this reception be considerate of his emotions?

“I wanna live in a way that makes sense,” Louis continues.  “Which means making sure I’m happy before anything else.  You’re _leaving_ and—”

“We’ll talk to each other everyday,” Harry says, speaking hurriedly.  “We can video call one another too.  I’ll—I’ll even write you _letters_ if you need me to, just—

“Harry,” Louis says gently, even though Harry’s still going on about the ways in which they’ll keep contact, even offering telegrams as an option.  It seems to humor Louis a bit as he giggles tenderly, before attempting to get his attention again.  “ _Harry_.”

“Yeah?” Harry says, finally stopping as he breathes in and out, now realizing how short of breath he is as he raises an eyebrow.

Louis opens his mouth to speak some more, but he gets interrupted when a flying object splashes into the fountain beneath them and almost gives Harry a heart attack.  Both he and Louis’ eyes fly down to it, droplets of water now littering the areas of their clothes that are nearer to the fountain, Harry’s free hand to his chest and Louis’ eyebrows to the sky.

It’s a bouquet of blush and white colored roses, now floating through the body of water as the petals begin to grow increasingly soaked.

Not even another second passes before there’s a young woman approaching them, a fitting red dress complimenting her as long, black hair soars behind her.  As pretty as she is, she looks almost terrifyingly determined as she holds a hand out.

“It’s mine,” she practically bellows.  The sharpness of her fierce tone brings Harry to immediately reach into the water beside them, shaking out the bouquet before holding it out towards her.

“Yours it is,” he says, mildly panicked as she snatches it.

Her mood completely flips from relentless to joyous as she runs back with it, joining the rest of the women in an eruption of excited hugs and delighted screams, and the sound of Louis laughing beside him causes whatever tension Harry had built up in his body to vanish in an instant.

“I guess now’s a better time than ever,” Louis says, gaining Harry’s attention once again as the cutest blush grows on the man’s face.  “You’re leaving, and I wanna leave with you.”

Harry’s heart jumps—not in the panicky way, but in the _wonderful_ way as Louis’ beautiful eyes blink into his.

“I wanna be with you…just all the time, and—I could move in with you,” Louis continues, his voice giving out only slightly as it seems the emotions are getting to him as well.  “We can just be together, like— _officially_ , I mean, I don’t have a ring right now because this wasn’t planned—“

“ _Huh?”_ Harry asks, although it comes out as a mere breath as his words escape him and his world feels as though it’s spinning and his body temperature has risen _drastically_ and Louis’ still _talking_ _—_

“Yeah, I figure why not, you know?” Louis says, shrugging one shoulder as he grows increasingly smiley at Harry’s flushed, bewildered reaction.  “I can live there with you, get the rest of my life sorted out, and we can just…be together.  Forever.  So whad'ya say, Harry Tomlinson?”

Harry’s completely lost control of his thoughts, as well as his ability to speak as he just _gapes_ with shallow breaths—but it also appears he’s lost control of his body, because he accidentally leans back too much and loses balance, and he really should’ve expected that at some point he would fall into this fountain.

Louis had reached out to save him, but he was clearly too late, because now a significant portion of Harry is immersed in the water, his clothes thoroughly dampened and his palms braced against coins as he struggles to get up, spitting water out of his mouth in the process.

He’s not even aware of how much of a splash his fall had been until he feels many people coming over to help him out as he blinks water out of his eyes.

“Are you alright dear?” is what he hears over the general murmurs of concern as he finally gets helped out of the fountain and is endlessly dripping.  He’s pretty sure the only reason he hears the question over everything else is because it had been Louis' mother, speaking into his ear and holding onto his elbow.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I—"

“Let’s get you a towel.”

And just like that, Harry’s pulled away, only looking at Louis briefly as the man stares at him with hesitant eyes and continues sitting upon the edge of the fountain.  Only a second passes before Harry hears Louis being called over for pictures by someone far away.

 

~*~

 

Harry’s gotten his towel.

He’d dried himself off long ago, but he’s still kind of cold in this moistened tux, so he has the towel draped over his shoulders and back as he sits upon one of the distant outside benches and keeps his elbows rested over his knees.  His hair is limp and damp, mostly sticking to his neck and flopping over his face as he sits there.  There are also two portable fans set in front of him, facing him and helping him to dry, because everyone was very sympathetic about his dramatic splash.

He came to discover that his phone was also very much in his pocket when he fell in, but now he has an excuse to get a new one, with a new number, that way certain  _people_ won't be able to reach him anymore. There's a bright side to everything.

Surprisingly, he’s _not_ in a horrible mood about this, because every time he thinks about how embarrassingly he fell into the fountain, he also thinks about _why_ he fell into it.

Louis had proposed to him.

Louis had _proposed_ to him.  The man had asked Harry to _marry_ him in the most casual, subtle, Louis-way possible, and Harry still feels like his internal organs have been replaced with cotton candy. 

He can’t believe this is real.  It’s already a dream enough to be with Louis—the younger version of himself would've exploded into confetti if Harry'd told him he and Louis eventually got around to properly  _cuddling_ each other, but _this_ _?_   This would've required a _lot_ of convincing.  He can’t _believe_ that what he’d expected to be the worst week of his life turned out to be… _this_.  He’s so eternally happy about having come here, and he’s going to be even happier when he leaves and Louis comes with him.  He’s just _happy_.

Louis’ currently sucked into a chain of never-ending family photos as Harry simply sits here, thinking about it all.  Although there's not much to think about, really.  He knows he’s ready to marry Louis.  He’s been ready for _years_ now, and he doesn’t even know how he’s managed to wait this long.  Louis should be lucky he has such a patient husband.

Harry’s in the middle of biting onto his thumb as he tries to calm the butterflies when Louis approaches him, his steps slow and his fingers fiddling with each other in front of him as he looks at Harry.

“Sorry, I was…” Louis begins, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder as he kicks at the grass lazily.

Harry shakes his head faintly, their eyes attached as the chill he’d been feeling becomes less prominent.  “It’s fine.”

There’s a quietness, Harry not daring to look away from this amazing man as it becomes clear Louis' growing nervous.

“Sorry for bombarding you like that,” Louis says, his tone apologetic as he drops his hands and comes to stand in front of him, blocking the fans.  “Probably should’ve chosen some place other than in front of a large fountain to do it.”

Harry chuckles as he sits up, grinning crookedly as he loses control of how much he’s probably gawking at the man.

“No, I liked it,” Harry says, almost shyly.  “You tried to be scenic.”

Louis’ grin is timid also as he lifts a heel off of the ground, glancing down at his dress shoes for a brief moment.  “Yeah.  I did.”

“It was cute,” Harry assures him, sliding the towel off of his shoulders and letting it rest on the bench behind him.

“ _You’re_ cute,” Louis says.

Harry grins proudly, getting up to his feet as his dimples remain ever present.  “I know.”

Just as he’s stepping up to Louis and entering his bubble, the song that’s playing in the faraway reception area is faintly heard by Harry as he listens carefully.  His eyes brighten even further at an almost impossible level as Louis raises his eyebrows, because they're both aware this is the very song Harry has been annoying Louis with for years.

“That’s the universe at work, isn’t it?” Harry asks, pointing in the air as the song plays.

Louis steps forward as well, getting one arm around Harry’s waist and pulling him in as his eyes concentrate on his lips.  “Or it’s just me requesting it.”

Harry lets himself be tugged in, their foreheads meeting as he settles his hands on the man’s shoulders.  “Either way, I know one thing for certain,” Harry begins.  “I’ve never been more in love with you than I am right now.”

Louis exhales, his breaths blessing Harry’s lips as the man’s hand slides underneath the blazer of his tux and brings their bodies almost flush.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” Harry whispers.

Their lips come together gracefully, Harry delicately touching Louis’ face all over as they remain inseparably close.  It almost feels magical—Harry wouldn't be surprised if magic  _had_ played a part in this, because that can be the only explanation for the fact that they’ve somehow found a way back to each other after having lost all hope at some point.

Harry abruptly wraps both arms around Louis’ waist, lifting him up as Louis gasps with surprise.  “Let’s go do it now,” Harry says, the man nearly slung over his shoulder as Harry begins on his impatient feet.

“ _Harry_!” Louis yells, even though it’s more of a gleeful laugh as he kicks his legs and proceeds to demand to be put down.

“I’m sure the officiant hasn’t driven too far yet,” Harry continues.

“Where are you guys going?” Harry hears, causing him to turn his head.  He isn't too surprised to find Niall on the outskirts of the reception, standing near some bushes as he talks closely to one of the bridesmaids.  He’s quite a far distance away, squinting his eyes at them as Harry comes to a stop upon the healthy green grass.

“We’re getting _married!”_ he shouts back, his smile almost hurting.

He supposes he’s given Louis the perfect opportunity to shove himself off of his shoulder, Louis getting down in a huff as he pulls on Harry’s tie and tugs him down onto the grass along with him.

“Now you’re announcing our engagement without consulting me, huh?” Louis asks, the both of them breathy and giggling as Louis rolls on top of him, his hands braced by Harry’s head as Harry’s shoe grazes his calf.

“Can’t blame me for not being able to wait,” Harry says, tugging on Louis’ braces as he rolls them over some more, both of their outfits thoroughly messed with grass stains and dirt as Harry becomes the one on top.

He leans down and catches Louis’ lips between his, Louis’ hand already exploring his hair as they lay in the grass.  “Want everyone to know how much I love my fiancé.”

Their lips ghost over one another as they remain tangled among the blades of grass, Louis’ lulling hand smoothing over the back of his head as his eyes contain the galaxies Harry’s always called home.

“I love you too,” Louis says, his gaze beckoning as he admires Harry above him, his fingertips sliding down his head to caress the back of his neck.

“Let’s get started on that honeymoon then,” Harry says, already beginning to bury his kisses under Louis’ jaw as he shuts his eyes to the sensation of the love of his life laughing and glowing and shoving underneath him.

He’s unaware of when his life went from a heartbroken struggle to something out of a fairy tale in a children’s book, but he’s definitely not going to complain about it.  All he can do is be over the moon now that they've finally gotten their happy ending.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * the end *
> 
> thank you to anyone that took the time to read this fic. it means so much and it motivates me to continue as a writer. i seriously hope you enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it! :)


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